THE  CHAUTAUQUA  LITERARY   AND  SCIEN- 
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SONG  AND  LEGEND  FROM  THE  MIDDLE  AGES. 

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Gbautauqua  "ReaDing  Circle  Xiteraturc 

SONG    AND    LEGEND 

FROM  THE 

MIDDLE  AGES 


SELECTED   AND  ARRANGED 

By  WILLIAM  D.   McCLIXTOCK 

Assistant  Professor  of  English  Literature,  University  of  Chicago 

AND 

PORTER  LANDER  McCLIXTOCK 


FLOOD  AND  VINCENT  - 
Cbe  (£bautauqua--€cnturi?  press 

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150  FIFTH  AVE.  NEW  YORK 

1893 


READING  LIST. 

OWTXG  to  the  necessarily  fragmentary  character  of  the  readings  of 
this  volume,  it  has  seemed  well  to  the  editors  to  indicate  a  list  of  books  for 
those  who  wish  a  wider  reading  in  Mediaeval  Literature.  These  books 
are  all  available  and  cheap. 

1.  French  Literature. 

(1)  Longfellow's  "  Poets  and  Poetry  of  Europe." 

(2)  O'Hagan's  "  The  Song  of  Roland." 

(3)  Bourdillon's  "  Aucassin  and  Nicolette." 

(4)  Malory's  "  Morte  Darthur." 

(5)  Chaucer's  "  Romance  of  the  Rose." 
(6>  Caxton's  "  Reynard  the  Fox." 

(7)  Saintsbury's  "  Short  History  of  French  Literature." 

2.  Spanish  Literature. 

(1)  Longfellow,  as  above. 

(2)  Ormsby's  "  The  Cid." 

(3)  Lockhart's  "  Ancient  Spanish  Ballads." 

3.  Scandinavian  Literature. 

(1)  Longfellow,  as  above. 

(2)  Anderson's  "  Norse  Mythology." 

4.  German  Literature. 

(1)  Longfellow,  as  above. 

(2)  Lettsom's  "  Niebelungenlied." 

(3)  Scherer's  "  Historj'  of  German  Literature." 

5.  Italian  Literature. 

(1)  Longfellow,  as  above. 

(2)  Rossetti's  "  Dante  and  his  Circle." 

(3)  Cary's  "  The  Divine  Comedy."       * 

(4)  Norton's  "The  Divine  Comedy." 

(5)  Campbell's  "  The  Sonnets  and  Poems  of  Petrarch." 


PREFACE. 

THE  aim  of  this  little  book  is  to  give  general  readers  some 
idea  of  the  subject  and  spirit  of  European  Continental  litera- 
ture in  the  later  and  culminating  period  of  the  Middle  Ages — 
the  eleventh,  twelfth,  and  thirteenth  centuries. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  translations  and  selections  are, 
in  general,  inadequate  to  the  satisfactory  representation  of  any 
literature.  No  piece  of  writing,  of  course,  especially  no  piece 
of  poetry,  can  be  perfectly  rendered  into  another  tongue ;  no 
piece  of  writing  can  be  fairly  represented  by  detached  portions. 
But  to  the  general  English  reader  Continental  Mediaeval 
literature,  so  long  as  it  remains  in  the  original  tongues,  is  in- 
accessible ;  and  translations  of  many  entire  works  are  not 
within  easy  reach. 

What  translation  and  selection  can  do  in  this  case,  is 
to  put  into  the  hands  of  the  ordinary  student  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  sufficient  material  for  forming  an  estimate  of  the 
subjects  that  interested  the  mediaeval  mind  and  the  spirit  in 
which  they  were  treated.  And  this  is  what  the  general  reader 
desires.  Matters  of  form  and  expression — the  points  that  trans- 
lation cannot  reproduce — belong,  of  course,  to  the  specialist. 

The  claim  that  so  slender  a  volume  of  selections  can  represent 
even  the  subject  and  spirit  of  so  vast  a  body  of  literature,  is 
saved  from  being  unreasonable  or  presumptuous  by  a  consid- 
eration of  the  fact  that,  from  causes  easy  to  trace,  the  national 
literatures  of  Continental  Europe  had  many  common  charac- 
teristics :  the  range  of  subjects  was  not  unlimited  ;  the  spirit  is 
the  same  in  all. 

No  English  is  included  for  two  reasons :  Mediaeval  Eng- 
lish literature  is  easily  accessible  to  those  readers  for  whom 
this  book  is  prepared  ;  during  the  special  period  in  which  the 


Vi  PREFACE. 

best  mediaeval  literature  was  developed,  England  was  com- 
paratively unproductive. 

The  constant  aim  has  been  to  put  before  the  reader  the  liter- 
ature itself,  with  comment  barely  sufficient  to  make  an  intelli- 
gible setting  for  the  selections.  Criticism  of  all  kinds  has 
been  avoided,  so  that  the  reader  may  come  to  his  material 
with  judgment  entirely  unbiased. 

The  translations  used  have  been  selected  largely  with  a  view 
to  their  accessibility,  so  that  readers  who  desire  to  enlarge  the 
scope  of  their  reading  may  easily  find  the  books  they  need. 
Caxton's  Reynard  the  Fox,  and  The  Romance  of  the  Rose, 
attributed  to  Chaucer,  were  chosen  because  they  convey  an 
impression  of  the  quaint  flavor  of  the  original,  which  is  lost 
in  a  modern  version.  The  slight  adaptations  and  transliter- 
ations made  in  these  two  selections  are  entirely  defensible  on 
the  score  of  intelligibility. 

Our  acknowledgments  are  due  to  Prof.  "William  I.  Knapp, 
of  the  University  of  Chicago,  for  the  use  of  books  from  his 
valuable  library,  and  for  the  permission,  most  highly  prized, 
to  print  for  the  first  time  some  of  his  translations  of  the  Cid 
ballads. 

THE  EDITORS. 
Chicago,  April,  1893. 


INTRODUCTION. 

THE  Middle  Ages  extend  from  the  fifth  to  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, from  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  to  the  establishment 
of  the  great  modern  states.  The  general  outline  of  the  history 
of  the  Middle  Ages  can  be  seen  in  the  following  excellent 
table: 1 

1.  The  decline  of  the  Roman  Empire  and    the  successful 

accomplishment  of  two  invasions. 

2.  The  transient  brilliancy  of  the  Arabian  civilization. 

3.  The  attempted  organization  of  a  new  empire  by  Charle- 

magne, and  its  dissolution. 

4.  The  rise  and  prevalence  of  feudalism. 

5.  The  successive  crusades. 

6.  The  contest  between  the  pope  and  the  emperor  for  the 

sovereignty  of  the  world. 

The  history  of  these  ten  centuries  falls  naturally  into  three 
great  divisions  : 

1.  Fifth  to  tenth  century,  the  destruction  of  the  past  and 

transition  to  new  forms. 

2.  Eleventh  to  thirteenth  century,  feudal  society  with  its 

customs,  its  institutions,  its  arts,  and  its  literatures. 

3.  The  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries,  a  second  time  of 

transition. 

The  period,  then,  of  the  eleventh,  twelfth,  and  thirteenth 
centuries  was  one  of  intense  political  life,  of  advanced  national 
self-consciousness,  of  rich,  highly-organized  society.  It  was 
moreover  a  period  of  common  ideas,  movements,  and  ten- 
dencies over  all  Europe.  Several  factors  enter  into  this  result : 

1.  The  church  was  completely  organized,  forming  a  common 
life  and  teaching  everywhere.  She  had  learned  to  employ  the 
savage  vigor  and  conquering  instincts  of  the  northern  bar- 
barians as  defenses  and  aggressive  missions  of  her  spirit  and 
ideas.  The  monasteries  were  homes  of  learning,  and  from 

l  Duruy's  "  History  of  the  Middle  Ages,"  page  XIV. 


viii  INTRODUCTION. 

them   issued   the  didactic  literature  and    the   early  drama. 

2.  This  resulted  in  that  romantic  institution  or  ideal  of  chiv- 
alry, whose  ten  commandments  explain  so  much  of  mediaeval 
life  and  art  l 

(1)  Thou  shalt  believe  all  the  church  teaches,   and  shalt 

observe  all  its  directions. 

(2)  Thou  shalt  defend  the  church. 

(3)  Thou  shalt  respect  all  weaknesses,  and  shalt  constitute 

thyself  the  defender  of  them. 

(4)  Thou  shalt  love  the  country  in  which  thou  wast  born. 

(5)  Thou  shalt  not  recoil  before  thine  enemy. 

(6)  Thou  shalt  make  war  against  the  infidel  without  cessa- 

tion and  without  mercy. 

(7)  Thou  shalt  perform  scrupulously  thy  feudal  duties,  if 
they  be  not  contrary  to  the  law  of  God. 

(8)  Thou  shalt  never  lie,  and  shalt  remain  faithful  to  thy 

pledged  word. 

(9)  Thou  shalt  be  generous  and  give  largesse  to  every  one. 

(10)  Thou  shalt  be  everywhere  and  always  the  champion  of 
the  Right  and  the  Good  against  Injustice  and  Evil. 

3.  This  combination  of  the  Christian  and  the  warrior  found 
its  public  activity  most  completely  in  the  Crusades.    They 
gave  a  common  motive  and  ideal  to  all  the  knights  of  Europe. 
They  brought  them  together  for  thinking  and  for  fighting. 
They  spread  national  traditions  and  literatures.    They  made 
the  whole  face  of  Europe  and  the  borders  of  the  Mediterra- 
nean known  to  the  ambitious,  venturesome,  daring,  and  heroic 
of  every  European  country.     The  exploits  of  chivalric  knights 
were  told  from  camp  to  camp  and  taken  back  home  to  be  told 
again  in  the  castles. 

4.  Another  institution   of  feudalism  that  helped  to  make 
this  common  subject  and  spirit  of  mediaeval  literature  was  the 
minstrel,  who  was  attached  to  every  well-appointed  castle. 
This    picturesque    poet — gleeman,    trouv&re  or   troubadour — 
sang  heroic  stories  and  romances  of  love  in  the  halls  of  castles 
and  in  the  market  places  of  towns.    He  borrowed  from  and 
copied  others  and  helped  to  make  the  common  method  and 
traditions  of  mediaeval  song. 

5.  Other  elements  in  this  result  were  the  extensions  of  com- 
merce and  the  growth  of  traveling  as  a  pleasure. 

6.  Finally,  the  itinerant  students  and  teachers  of  mediaeval 
i  "  Chivalry,"  by  L6on  Gautier,  1891,  p.  26. 


INTRODUCTION,  ix 

universities  assisted  in  the  making  of  this  common  fund  of 
ideas  and  material  for  literature. 

7.  Behind  and  within  all  the  separate  national  literatures 
lay  the  common  Christian-Latin  literature  of  the  early 
Middle  Ages,  undoubtedly  the  cause  of  the  rather  startling 
perfection  of  form  shown  by  much  of  the  work  of  the  period 
we  are  studying.1 

The  result  of  all  these  unifying  tendencies  is  to  give  a  strong 
family  likeness  to  the  productions  of  the  various  European 
countries  of  the  eleventh,  twelfth,  and  thirteenth  centuries. 
The  subject  matter  often  varies,  but  the  motive  and  form 
of  writing  are  much  alike.  This  likeness  can  be  seen  by 
a  short  survey  of  the  more  important  kinds  of  literature 
of  the  period. 

I.    THE  NATIONAL  EPIC. 

In  every  country  in  which  the  national  epic  grew  up  it  had 
the  same  origin  and  line  of  development.  First  there  was  the 
historical  hero.  His  deeds  were  related  by  the  traveling 
gleeman  or  minstrel — in  brief  chapters  or  ballads.  Gradually 
mythical  and  supernatural  elements  came  in ;  the  number  of 
achievements  and  the  number  of  ballads  grew  very  large  ;  in 
this  oral  state  they  continued  for  many  years,  sometimes  for 
centuries. 

Finally,  they  were  collected,  edited,  and  written  down — gen- 
erally by  a  single  editor.  In  all  cases  the  names  of  the  poets 
of  the  ballads  are  lost ;  in  most  cases  the  names  of  their 
redactors  are  but  conjectural.  The  Song  of  Roland,  and  the 
Poem  of  the  Cid  are  typical,  simple,  national  epics.  The 
Niebelungen  Lied  is  complicated  by  the  fact  that  the  legends 
of  many  heroes  are  fused  into  one  poem,  by  the  fact  that  it 
had  more  than  one  editor,  and  by  the  survival  of  mythological 
elements  which  mingle  confusedly  with  Christian  features. 
The  national  epic  is  the  expression  of  the  active  side  of 
chivalry.  Italy  has  no  national  epic,  both  because  she  was 
too  learned  to  develop  a  folk-poetry,  and  because  the  ideas  of 
chivalry  were  never  very  active  in  her  history. 

i  See  Ebert  "Allgemeiiie  Geschichte  der  Literatur  des  Mittelalters."  Vol. 
I.,  p.  11. 


x  INTRODUCTION. 

II.     KOMANCES. 

The  numberless  romances  that  sprang  up  in  the  literary 
period  of  the  Middle  Ages  may  be  thrown  into  three  groups  : 

1.  Those  belonging  to  the  legend  of  Arthur  and  the  Round 
Table.    They  had  their  starting  point  in  the  history  of  Geoffrey 
of  Monmouth,  which  was  partly  invented,  but  had  some  basis 
in  a  tradition  common  to  the  Bretons  and  the  Welsh.    The 
romances  based  upon  this  legend  sprang  up  apparently  simul- 
taneously  in  England  and  France.     Through  minstrel  ro- 
mances, founded  upon  the  Breton  popular  tradition,  the  Arthur 
legend  probably  first  found  its  way  into  European  literature. 
With  it  was  early  fused  the  stories  of  the  Holy  Grail  and  of  Par- 
zival.  In  the  twelfth  century  these  stories  were  widely  popular 
in  literary  form  in  France  and  Germany,  and  later  they  passed 
into  Italy,  Spain,  and  Scandinavia.    Their  influence  upon  the 
life  and  thought  of  Mediaeval  Europe  is  very  important.    They 
did  much  to  modify  the  entire  institution  of  chivalry. l 

2.  The  Romances  of  Antiquity,  of  which  there  are  three 
varieties : 

(1)  Those  which  were  believed  to  be  direct  reproductions, 
such  as  the  Romances  of  Thebes,  of  ^Eueas,  of  Troy, 
whose  authors  acknowledged  a  debt  to  Vergil,  Statius, 
and  other  classic  writers. 

(2)  Those  based  upon  ancient  history  not  previously  versi- 
fied, such  as  the  Romance  of  Alexander. 

(3)  Those  which  reproduced  the  names  and  nothing  else 
from  antiquity. 

These  romances,  too,  were  a  common  European  possession. 
The  most  important  and  influential  of  them  are  the  Romance 
of  Troy,  and  the  Romance  of  Alexander.  They  appear  in 
different  forms  in  the  literature  of  every  mediaeval  nation  in 
Europe. 

3.  There  was  in  each  national  literature  a  vast  number  of 
unaffiliated  romances.    A  romance  of  this  group  usually  con- 
tained a  love  story,  a  tale  of  adventure,  or  a  religious  ex- 
perience in  the  form  of  a  story.    They  are  not  clearly  distinct 
from  the  class  of  popular  tales.    On  the  whole,  the  romance  is 
more  serious  and  dignified  than  the  tale.    Examples  of  this 
kind  of  a  romance  are  Hartmann  von  Aue's  Henry  the  Leper, 
and  the  French  Flore  et  Blanchefleur. 

i  L,6on  Gautier's  "  Chivalry,"  chap.  IV.,  Section  V. 


INTRODUCTION.  3d 

III.  LYRICS. 

Perhaps  no  other  part  of  its  literature  shows  more  striking 
proof  of  the  common  life  and  interests  of  Mediaeval  Europe 
than  does  the  lyric  poetry  of  the  period.  In  Northern  France, 
in  Provence,  in  all  parts  of  Germany,  in  Italy,  and  a  little 
later  in  Spain,  we  see  a  most  remarkable  outburst  of  song. 
The  subjects  were  the  same  in  all  the  countries.  Love — the 
love  of  feudal  chivalry — patriotism,  and  religion  were  the 
themes  that  employed  the  mediaeval  lyrist  in  whatever 
country  he  sang.  In  all  these  lyrics  much  was  made  of  form, 
the  verse  being  always  skillfully  constructed,  sometimes  very 
complicated.  The  lyric  poetry  of  Italy  was  more  learned  and 
more  finished  in  style  than  that  of  the  other  countries. 

In  Northern  France  the  poet  was  called  a  trouvere,  in 
Provence  a  troubadour,  in  Germany  a  minnesinger.  The 
traveling  minstrel  wras  in  France  a  jongleur  (Provencal 
jogleur).  The  distinction  between  trouvere  or  troubadour 
and  jongleur  is  not  always  to  be  sharply  drawn.  Sometimes 
in  France  and  Provence  the  same  poet  composed  his  verses 
and  sang  them— was  both  trouvere  or  troubadour  and  jong- 
leur; while  in  Germany  the  minnesingers  were  generally 
both  poets  and  minstrels. 

IV.  TALES  AND  FABLES. 

No  distinct  line  can  be  drawn  between  Tales  and  Fables  ; 
between  Romances  and  Tales ;  nor  between  Fables  and  Alle- 
gories. These  varieties  of  writings  merge  into  one  another. 

The  number  of  tales  in  circulation  in  Mediaeval  Europe  was 
exceedingly  large.  These  tales  came  from  many  different 
sources  :  from  Oriental  lands,  introduced  by  the  Moors,  or 
brought  back  by  the  crusaders ;  from  ancient  classical  litera- 
ture ;  from  traditions  of  the  church  and  the  lives  of  the 
saints  ;  from  the  old  mythologies  ;  from  common  life  and  ex- 
perience. Among  many  mediaeval  collections  of  them,  the 
most  famous  are  the  Decameron  of  Boccaccio,  and  the  Oeste 
Bomanorum,  a  collection  made  and  used  by  the  priests  in  in- 
structing their  people. 

V.  DIDACTIC  AND  ALLEGORICAL  LITERATURE. 

Under  didactic  literature  we  would  include  a  large  mass  of 
writing  not  strictly  to  be  called  pure  literature — sermons, 


xli  INTRODUCTION. 

homilies,  chronicles,  bestiaries,  and  chronologies.  Nearly  all 
these  were  written  in  verse,  as  prose  did  not  begin  to  be  used 
for  literature  until  very  late  in  the  Middle  Ages. 

The  mediaeval  mind,  under  the  influence  of  the  scholastic 
theology,  grew  very  fond  of  allegory.  The  list  of  allegories 
is  exhaustless,  and  some  of  the  allegories  well-nigh  inter- 
minable. It  is  not  easy  to  say  whether  the  Romance  of  Rey- 
nard the  Fox  is  a  series  of  fables  or  an  allegory.  The  fact 
that  a  satire  on  human  affairs  runs  through  it  constantly, 
warrants  us  in  calling  it  an  allegory.  Some  phase  of  the 
Reynard  legend  formed  the  medium  of  expression  of  the 
thought  of  every  mediaeval  nation  in  Europe.  Perhaps  the 
most  popular  and  influential  allegory  of  the  Middle  Ages  was 
The  Romance  of  the  Rose,  written  in  France  but  translated  or 
imitated  in  every  other  country.  Dante's  Divine  Comedy  is 
an  allegory  of  a  very  elevated  kind. 
VI.  THE  DBAMA. 

The  origin  and  line  of  development  of  the  drama  in  all 
the  countries  of  Mediaeval  Europe  is  this :  Dramatic  represen- 
tations in  connection  with  the  liturgy  of  the  church  were  first 
used  in  the  service ;  then  they  were  extended  to  church 
festivals  and  ceremonies.  By  degrees  portions  of  Bible  history 
were  thrown  into  dramatic  form  ;  then  the  lives  of  the  saints 
furnished  material.  A  distinction  grew  up  between  Mystery 
Plays — those  founded  on  Bible  history — and  Miracle  Plays — 
those  founded  on  the  lives  of  the  saints.  These  plays  were 
performed  both  in  the  churches  and  in  the  open  air.  They 
were  written  usually  by  the  clergy.  Gradually  there  grew  up 
a  play  in  which  the  places  of  religious  characters  were  taken 
by  abstract  virtues  and  vices  personified,  and  plays  called 
Moralities  were  produced.  They  were  played  chiefly  by 
tradesmen's  guilds.  Alongside  the  sacred  drama  are  to  be 
found  occasional  secular  dramatic  attempts,  farces,  carnival 
plays,  and  profane  mysteries.  But  their  number  and  sig- 
nificance are  small.  The  mediaeval  drama  is  historically 
interesting,  but  in  itself  does  not  contain  much  interest.  It  is 
impossible  to  give  an  idea  of  it  by  selection. 


SONG  AND  LEGEND  FROM  THE 
MIDDLE  AGES. 

CHAPTEE  I. 

FRENCH    LITERATURE. 

FRENCH  Literature  of  the  Middle  Ages  was  produced  be- 
tween the  eleventh  and  the  fifteenth  centuries,  having  its 
greatest  development  in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries. 
It  must  be  divided  into  two  sections  according  to  the  part 
of  France  where  it  was  produced. 

I.  French  Literature  proper,    or   that  composed    in   the 
northern  half  of  France. 

II.  Provencal  Literature,  or  that  developed  in  Provence. 

The  most  obvious  difference  between  these  is  that  the  Prov- 
encal literature  had  little  of  the  epic  and  romantic,  but  de- 
veloped the  lyric  extensively,  especially  lyrics  -jf  love. 

The  following  table  will  show  the  more  important  kinds  of 
French  Mediaeval  Literature.1 
I.    Narrative  Literature. 

1.  The  National  Epics. 

2.  Romances  of  Antiquity. 

3.  Arthurian  Romances. 

4.  Romances  of  Adventure. 

5.  Tales  and  Fables. 

6.  Chronicles. 

i  This  classification  is  adapted  from  M.  Gaston  Paris'  excellent  sketch 
La  Litterature  Francaise  au  Moyen  Age,  1890,  and  Saintsbury's  "Short 
History  of  French  Literature,"  1889. 

13 


14  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

H.    Didactic  Literature. 

1.  Allegories — The  Romance  of  the  Rose. 

2.  Satires. 

3.  Homilies,  etc. 
III.    Lyric  Literature. 

THE  NATIONAL  EPICS. 

The  French  national  epics  (called  Chansons  de  Oestes,  songs 
of  heroic  deeds)  are  those  narrative  poems  which  are  founded 
on  early  French  history,  and  recount  the  deeds  of  national 
heroes.  They  are,  for  the  most  part,  based  on  the  deeds  of 
Charlemagne  and  his  nobles.  They  are  peculiar  to  Northern 
France.  Their  date  of  production  extends  from  the  eleventh 
to  the  fourteenth  century,  their  best  development  being  in  the 
eleventh  and  twelfth. 

These  epic  poems  number  more  than  one  hundred.  They 
vary  in  length  from  one  thousand  to  thirty  thousand  lines. 
The  whole  mass  is  said  to  contain  between  two  and  three 
million  lines.  Like  all  folk  epics,  they  are  based  upon  earlier 
ballads  composed  by  many  different  poets.  These  ballads 
were  never  written  down  and  are  completely  lost.  The  epic  is 
a  compilation  and  adaptation,  presumably  by  a  single  poet,  of 
the  material  of  the  ballads.  In  every  case  the  names  of  the 
poets  of  the  French  epics  are  lost.  They  were  trouveres  and 
their  poems  were  carried  about  in  memory  or  in  manuscript 
by  the  jongleurs  or  minstrels,  and  sung  from  castle  to  castle 
and  in  the  market  places.  The  best  of  them  are  :  The  Song  of 
Roland;  Amis  et  Amiles;  Aliscans;  Gerard  de  Roitssillon; 
Raoul  de  Cambrai.  Of  these  the  oldest  and  confessedly  the 
greatest  is  The  Song  of  Roland,  from  which  our  extracts  are 
taken. 

The  Song  of  Roland  is  based  upon  the  following  events  (the 
events  as  narrated  in  the  poem  differ  widely  from  those  of  the 


FRENCH  LITERATURE.  16 

actual  history) :  Charlemagne  has  warred  seven  years  in 
Spain,  when  Marsile,  king  of  Saragossa,  the  only  city  that  has 
withstood  the  emperor,  sends  a  feigned  submission.  Roland, 
the  king's  nephew,  offers  to  go  to  Saragossa  to  settle  the  terms 
of  the  treaty.  He  is  rejected  as  too  impetuous,  when  he  sug- 
gests that  Ganelon  go.  This  bitterly  annoys  Ganelon,  and 
when  he  meets  Marsile  he  makes  a  treacherous  plot  by  which 
Charlemagne  is  to  be  induced  to  go  back  to  France,  with  Ro- 
land in  command  of  the  rear  guard.  The  plan  works,  and 
when  the  advanced  party  of  the  French  army  is  out  of  reach, 
the  Saracens  fall  upon  the  rear  guard  in  the  pass  of  Ronce- 
valles  and  completely  destroy  it.  The  death  of  Roland,  the 
return  and  grief  of  the  king,  and  his  vengeance  on  the  pagans 
form  the  central  incident  of  the  poem.  Ganelon  is  after- 
wards tried  for  his  treachery,  condemned,  and  executed. 

THE  SONG  OF  ROLAND. 

Stanza  L— The  king,  our  Emperor  Carlemaine, 

Hath  been  for  seven  full  years  in  Spain. 
From  highland  to  sea  hath  he  won  the  land ; 
City  was  pone  might  his  arm  withstand ; 
Keep  and  castle  alike  went  down- 
Save  Saragossa,  the  mountain  town. 
The  King  Marsilius  holds  the  place, 
Who  loveth  not  God,  nor  seeks  His  grace : 
He  prays  to  Apollin,  and  serves  Mahound ; 
But  he  saved  him  not  from  the  fate  he  found. 

King  Marsile  held  a  council  and  decided  to  offer  Charlemagne  a  feigned 
submission.    Karl  summons  his  council  to  consider  this. 

Stanza  8. — King  Karl  is  jocund  and  gay  of  mood, 
He  hath  Cordres  city  at  last  subdued  ; 
Its  shattered  walls  and  turrets  fell 
By  catapult  and  mangonel ; 
Not  a  heathen  did  there  remain 
But  confessed  himself  Christian  or  else  was  slain. 
The  Emperor  sits  in  an  orchard  wide, 
Roland  and  Olivier  by  his  side : 


16  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Samson  the  duke,  and  Anseis  proud ; 

Geoffrey  of  Anjou,  whose  arm  was  vowed 

The  royal  gonfalon  to  rear ; 

Gerein,  and  his  fellow  in  arms,  Gerier : 

"With  them  many  a  gallant  lance, 

Full  fifteen  thousand  of  gentle  France. 

The  cavaliers  sit  upon  carpets  white 

Playing  at  tables  for  their  delight ; 

The  older  and  sager  sit  at  chess, 

The  bachelors  fence  with  a  light  address. 

Seated  underneath  a  pine, 

Close  beside  an  eglantine, 

Upon  a  throne  of  beaten  gold, 

The  lord  of  ample  France  behold ; 

White  his  hair  and  beard  were  seen, 

Fair  of  body,  and  proud  of  mien, 

Who  sought  him  needed  not  ask,  I  ween. 

The  ten  alight  before  his  feet, 

And  him  in  all  observance  greet. 

The  treacherous  plot  has  succeeded.  Charles,  with  the  main  part  of  his 
army,  has  gone  ahead,  the  Saracens  have  fallen  on  the  rear-guard,  and 
are  destroying  it.  Oliver  begs  Roland  to  sound  his  wonderful  horn  and 
summon  aid. 

Stanza  87.—"  O  Roland,  sound  on  your  ivory  horn, 

To  the  ear  of  Karl  shall  the  blast  be  borne : 
He  will  bid  his  legions  backward  bend, 
And  all  his  barons  their  aid  will  lend." 
"  Now  God  forbid  it,  for  very  shame, 
That  for  my  kindred  were  stained  with  blame, 
Or  that  gentle  France  to  such  vileness  fell : 
This  good  sword  that  hath  served  me  well, 
My  Durindana  such  strokes  shall  deal, 
That  with  blood  encrimsoned  shall  be  the  steel. 
By  their  evil  star  are  the  felons  led  ; 
They  shall  all  be  numbered  among  the  dead !  " 

Stanza  88.—"  Roland,  Roland,  yet  wind  one  blast ! 
Karl  will  hear  ere  the  gorge  be  passed, 
And  the  Franks  return  on  their  path  fall  fast !  " 
"  I  will  not  sound  on  mine  ivory  horn  : 
It  shall  never  be  spoken  of  me  in  scorn, 
That  for  heathen  felons  one  blast  I  blew ; 
I  may  not  dishonour  my  lineage  true. 


FRENCH  LITERATURE.  17 

But  I  will  strike,  ere  this  fight  be  o'er, 

A  thousand  strokes  and  seven  hundred  more, 

And  my  Durindana  will  drip  with  gore. 

Our  Franks  shall  bear  them  like  vassals  brave. 

The  Saracens  shall  flock  but  to  find  a  grave." 

Stanza  89. — "  I  deem  of  neither  reproach  nor  stain. 
I  have  seen  the  Saracen  host  of  Spain, 
Over  plain  and  valley  and  mountain  spread, 
And  the  regions  hidden  beneath  their  tread. 
Countless  the  swarm  of  the  foe,  and  we 
A  marvellous  little  company." 
Roland  answered  him,  "  All  the  more 
My  spirit  within  me  burns  therefore. 
God  and  the  angels  of  heaven  defend 
That  France  through  me  from  her  glory  bend. 
Death  were  better  than  fame  laid  low. 
Our  Emperor  loveth  a  downright  blow." 

At  last  Roland  blows  his  horn,  but  it  is  too  late.  All  the  Moors  are  slain  or 
routed,  but  so  are  all  the  Franks  save  Roland,  and  he  has  received 
his  death  blow. 

Stanza  195. — That  Death  was  on  him  he  knew  full  well ; 
Down  from  his  head  to  his  heart  it  fell. 
On  the  grass  beneath  a  pinetree's  shade, 
With  face  to  earth  his  form  he  laid, 
Beneath  him  placed  he  bis  horn  and  sword, 
And  turned  his  face  to  the  heathen  horde. 
Thus  hath  he  done  the  sooth  to  show, 
That  Karl  and  his  warriors  all  may  know, 
That  the  gentle  count  a  conqueror  died. 
Mea  Oulpa  full  oft  he  cried  ; 
And,  for  all  his  sins,  unto  God  above, 
In  sign  of  penance,  he  raised  his  glove. 

Stanza  197.— Beneath  a  pine  was  his  resting-place, 

To  the  land  of  Spain  hath  he  turned  his  face. 
On  his  memory  rose  full  many  a  thought — 
Of  the  lands  he  won  and  the  fields  he  fought ; 
Of  his  gentle  France,  of  his  kin  and  line ; 
Of  his  nursing  father  King  Karl  benign ; — 
He  may  not  the  tear  and  sob  control, 
Nor  yet  forgets  he  his  parting  soul. 
To  God's  compassion  he  makes  his  cry  : 
"  O  Father  true,  who  canst  not  lie, 


18  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Who  didst  Lazarus  raise  unto  life  again, 

And  Daniel  shield  in  the  lions'  den ; 

Shield  my  soul  from  its  peril,  due 

For  the  sins  I  sinned  my  lifetime  through." 

He  did  his  right  hand  glove  uplift — 

St.  Gabriel  took  from  his  hand  the  gift; 

Then  drooped  his  head  upon  his  breast, 

And  with  clasped  hands  he  went  to  rest. 

God  from  on  high  sent  down  to  him 

One  of  his  angel  cherubim — 

Saint  Michael  of  Peril  of  the  sea, 

Saint  Gabriel  in  company — 

From  heaven  they  came  for  that  soul  of  price, 

And  they  bore  it  with  them  to  Paradise. 

The  king  hears  Roland's  horn  and  hurries  back,  only  to  find  him  and 
all  his  knights  slain.    He  swoons,  revives,  but  swoons  again. 

Stanza  212.— As  Karl  the  king  revived  once  more, 
His  hands  were  held  by  barons  four. 
He  saw  his  nephew,  cold  and  wan ; 
Stark  his  frame,  but  his  hue  was  gone ; 
His  eyes  turned  inward,  dark  and  dim ; 
And  Karl  in  love  lamented  him  : 
"  Dear  Roland,  God  thy  spirit  rest 
In  paradise,  amongst  His  blest ! 
In  evil  hour  thou  soughtest  Spain : 
No  day  shall  dawn  but  sees  my  pain, 
And  me  of  strength  and  pride  bereft, 
No  champion  of  mine  honour  left ; 
Without  a  friend  beneath  the  sky  ; 
And  though  my  kindred  still  be  nigh, 
Is  none  like  thee  their  ranks  among." 
With  both  his  hands  his  beard  he  wrung. 
The  Franks  bewailed  in  unison  ; 
A  hundred  thousand  wept  like  one. 

Stanza  213. — "  Dear  Roland,  I  return  again 
To  Laon,  to  mine  own  domain  ; 
Where  men  will  come  from  many  a  land, 
And  seek  Count  Roland  at  my  hand. 
A  bitter  tale  must  I  unfold— 
'  In  Spanish  earth  he  lieth  cold.' 
A  joyless  realm  henceforth  I  hold, 
And  weep  with  daily  tears  untold. 


FRENCH  LITERATURE.  19 

Stanza  214.—"  Dear  Roland,  beautiful  and  brave, 
All  men  of  me  will  tidings  crave, 
When  I  return  to  La  Chapelle. 
Oh,  what  a  tale  is  mine  to  tell  1 
That  low  my  glorious  nephew  lies. 
Now  will  the  Saxon  foeman  rise ; 
Palermitan  and  Afric  bands, 
And  men  from  fierce  and  distant  lands. 
To  sorrow  sorrow  must  succeed ; 
My  hosts  to  battle  who  shall  lead, 
When  the  mighty  captain  is  overthrown? 
Ah !  France  deserted  now,  and  lone. 
Come,  death,  before  such  grief  I  bear." 
Began  he  with  his  hands  to  tear ; 
A  hundred  thousand  fainted  there. 

Stanza  215.—"  Dear  Roland,  and  was  this  thy  fate  ?  . 

May  Paradise  thy  soul  await. 
Who  slew  thee  wrought  fair  France's  bane : 
I  cannot  live  so  deep  my  pain. 
For  me  my  kindred  lie  undone ; 
And  would  to  Holy  Mary's  Son, 
Ere  I  at  Cizra's  gorge  alight, 
My  soul  may  take  its  parting  flight : 
My  spirit  would  with  theirs  abide  ; 
My  body  rest  their  dust  beside." 
With  sobs  his  hoary  beard  he  tore. 
"  Alas!  "  said  Naimes,  "  for  the  Emperor." 

The  Franks  take  terrible  vengeance  on  the  Moors  who  survive.    Then  they 
bury  their  dead  comrades  and  all  return  to  France. 

Stanza  225. — From  Spain  the  Emperor  made  retreat, 

To  Aix  in  France,  his  kingly  seat ; 

And  thither,  to  his  halls,  there  came, 

Alda,  the  fair  and  gentle  dame. 
"  Where  is  my  Roland,  sire,"  she  cried, 
"  Who  vowed  to  take  me  for  his  bride?  " 

O'er  Karl  the  flood  of  sorrow  swept ; 

He  tore  his  beard  and  loud  he  wept. 
"  Dear  Sister,  gentle  friend,"  he  said, 
"  Thou  seekest  one  who  lieth  dead : 

I  plight  to  thee  my  son  instead,— 

Louis,  who  lord  of  my  realm  shall  be." 
"  Strange,"  she  said,  "  this  seems  to  me. 


20  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

God  and  his  angels  forbid  that  I 
Should  live  on  earth  if  Roland  die." 
Pale  grew  her  cheek — she  sank  amain, 
Down  at  the  feet  of  Carlemaine. 
So  died  she.    God  receive  her  soul ! 
The  Franks  bewail  her  in  grief  and  dole. 

Stanza  ££6. — So  to  her  death  went  Alda  fair. 

The  king  but  deemed  she  fainted  there. 
While  dropped  his  tears  of  pity  warm, 
He  took  her  hands  and  raised  her  form. 
Upon  his  shoulder  drooped  her  head, 
And  Karl  was  ware  that  she  was  dead. 
When  thus  he  saw  that  life  was  o'er, 
He  summoned  noble  ladies  four. 
Within  a  cloister  was  she  borne ; 
They  watched  beside  her  until  morn ; 
Beneath  a  shrine  her  limbs  were  laid ; 
Such  honour  Karl  to  Alda  paid. 

ROMANCES. 

Another  form  of  narrative  literature  in  the  Middle  Ages 
is  that  of  Romances,  and  the  great  products  of  it  are  the 
Arthurian  Romances  and  the  Romances  of  Antiquity.  THE 
ARTHURIAN  CYCLE  OF  ROMANCES  is  a  set  of  romantic  stories 
founded  on  the  legends  of  Arthur  and  the  Knights  of  the 
Round  Table,  with  which  was  early  fused  the  legend  of 
the  Holy  Graal.  The  legend  has  sources  as  far  back  as  the 
ninth  century,  but  expanded  into  definite  shape  in  France 
and  England  in  the  twelfth.  It  had  its  first  and  highest 
popular  development  in  France.  Here  they  were  collected 
and  thrown  into  verse  by  Chrestien  de  Troyes.  It  became  at 
once  a  general  European  possession  and  expanded  to  vast  pro- 
portions. In  England  the  Arthur  stories  flourished  both 
independently  and  as  translations  from  French.  Sir  Thomas 
Malory  collected  in  the  latter  part  of  the  fifteenth  century 
a  great  number  of  these  sources,  translated,  edited,  abridged, 
and  rewrote  the  whole  into  that  charming  book  Morte 


FRENCH  LITERATURE.  21 

D1  Arthur.  It  is  accepted  that  this  book,  though  so  late,  gives 
a  true  impression  of  the  characteristics  of  the  older  romances. 
We  select  from  this  rather  than  from  other  translations  of 
French  originals,  to  give  a  mediaeval  flavor  to  the  selection 
and  have  the  advantage  of  quoting  a  classic. 

Alongside  the  Arthurian  Romances,  flourished  many  ro- 
mances of  antiquity.  The  more  important  of  these  cycles  are 
the  ROMANCE  OF  ALEXANDER,  and  the  ROMANCE  OF  TROY, 
while  others  worth  mentioning  are  the  ROMANCE  OF  THEBES 
and  the  ROMANCE  OF  AENEAS.  They  are  all  very  long  poems, 
consisting  of  series  of  stories  partly  derived  from  classic 
sources,  partly  invented  by  trouveres.  They  are  important  (1) 
as  connecting,  however  loosely,  mediaeval  with  classical  litera- 
ture, and  (2)  as  showing  some  scholarship  on  the  part  of  their 
authors  and  interest  in  general  culture. 

FROM  MORTE  D' ARTHUR, 

Book  I.    Chapter  23. 

How  Arthur  by  the  mean  of  Merlin  gat  Excalibur  his  sword  of  the  Lady  of 
the  lake. 

Right  so  the  king  and  he  departed,  and  went  until  an 
hermit  that  was  a  good  man  and  a  great  leach.  So  the  hermit 
searched  all  his  wounds  and  gave  him  good  salves ;  so  the  king 
was  there  three  days,  and  then  were  his  wounds  well  amended 
that  he  might  ride  and  go,  and  so  departed.  And  as  they 
rode,  Arthur  said,  I  have  no  sword.  No  force,  said  Merlin, 
hereby  is  a  sword  that  shall  be  yours  and  I  may.  So  they 
rode  till  they  came  to  a  lake,  the  which  was  a  fair  water 
and  broad,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  lake  Arthur  was  ware  of  an 
arm  clothed  in  white  samite,  that  held  a  fair  sword  in  that 
hand.  Lo,  said  Merlin,  yonder  is  that  sword  that  I  spake 
of.  With  that  they  saw  a  damsel  going  upon  the  lake  :  What 
damsel  is  that?  said  Arthur.  That  is  the  Lady  of  the  lake, 
said  Merlin  ;  and  within  that  lake  is  a  rock,  and  therein  is 
as  fair  a  place  as  any  on  earth,  and  richly  beseen,  and  this 
damsel  will  come  to  you  anon,  and  then  speak  ye  fair  to 


22  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

her  that  she  will  give  you  that  sword.  Anon  withal  came  the 
damsel  unto  Arthur  and  saluted  him,  and  he  her  again.  Dam- 
sel, said  Arthur,  what  sword  is  that,  that  yonder  the  arm 
holdeth  above  the  water  ?  I  would  it  were  mine,  for  I  have 
no  sword.  Sir  Arthur  king,  said  the  damsel,  that  sword 
is  mine,  and  if  ye  will  give  me  a  gift  when  I  ask  it  you, 
ye  shall  have  it.  By  my  faith,  said  Arthur,  I  will  give 
you  what  gift  ye  will  ask.  Well,  said  the  damsel,  go  ye 
into  yonder  barge  and  row  yourself  to  the  sword,  and  take 
it  and  the  scabbard  with  you,  and  I  will  ask  my  gift  when 
I  see  my  time.  So  Sir  Arthur  and  Merlin  alight,  and  tied 
their  horses  to  two  trees,  and  so  they  went  into  the  ship, 
and  when  they  came  to  the  sword  that  the  hand  held,  Sir 
Arthur  took  it  up  by  the  handles,  and  took  it  with  him.  And 
the  arm  and  the  hand  went  under  the  water;  and  so  they 
came  unto  the  land  and  rode  forth. 

Book  III.    Chapter  1. 

How  king  Arthur  took  a  wife,  and  wedded  Guenever  daughter  to  Leo- 
degrance,  king  of  the  land  of  Cameliard,  with  whom  he  had  the  Round 
Table. 

In  the  beginning  of  Arthur,  after  he  was  chosen  king  by  ad- 
venture and  by  grace — for  the  most  part  of  the  barons  knew  not 
that  he  was  Uther  Pendragon's  son,  but  as  Merlin  made  it 
openly  known, — many  kings  and  lords  made  great  war  against 
him  for  that  cause  ;  but  well  Arthur  overcame  them  all ;  for  the 
most  part  of  the  days  of  his  life  he  was  ruled  much  by  the  council 
of  Merlin.  So  it  fell  on  a  time  king  Arthur  said  unto  Merlin, 
My  barons  will  let  me  have  no  rest,  but  needs  I  must  take 
a  wife,  and  I  will  none  take  but  by  thy  council  and  by  thine 
advice.  It  is  well  done,  said  Merlin,  that  ye  take  a  wife,  for  a 
man  of  your  bounty  and  nobleness  should  not  be  without 
a  wife.  Now  is  there  any  that  ye  love  more  than  another  ? 
Yea,  said  king  Arthur,  I  love  Guenever,  the  daughter  of  king 
Leodegrance,  of  the  land  of  Cameliard,  which  Leodegrance 
holdeth  in  his  house  the  Table  Round,  that  ye  told  he  had  of 
my  father,  Uther.  And  this  damsel  is  the  most  valiant  and 
fairest  lady  that  I  know  living,  or  yet  that  ever  I  could  find. 
Sir,  said  Merlin,  as  of  her  beauty  and  fairness  she  is  one  of  the 
fairest  on  live.  But  and  ye  loved  her  not  so  well  as  ye  do, 


FRENCH  LITERATURE.  23 

I  could  find  you  a  damsel  of  beauty  and  of  goodness  that 
should  like  you  and  please  you,  and  your  heart  were  not  set ; 
but  there  as  a  man's  heart  is  set,  he  will  be  loth  to  return. 
That  is  truth,  said  king  Arthur.  But  Merlin  warned  the  king 
covertly  that  Guenever  was  not  wholesome  for  him  to  take  to 
wife,  for  he  warned  him  that  Launcelot  should  love  her,  and 
she  him  again  ;  and  so  he  turned  his  tale  to  the  adventures  of 
the  Sangreal.  Then  Merlin  desired  of  the  king  to  have  men 
with  him  that  should  enquire  of  Guenever,  and  so  the  king 
granted  him.  And  Merlin  went  forth  to  king  Leodegrance  of 
Cameliard,  and  told  him  of  the  desire  of  the  king  that  he 
would  have  unto  his  wife  Guenever  his  daughter.  That  is  to 
me,  said  king  Leodegrance,  the  best  tidings  that  ever  I  heard, 
that  so  worthy  a  king  of  prowess  and  noblesse  will  wed  my 
daughter.  And  as  for  my  lands  I  will  give  him  wist  I  it 
might  please  him,  but  he  hath  lands  enough,  him  needeth 
none,  but  I  shall  send  him  a  gift  shall  please  him  much  more, 
for  I  shall  give  him  the  Table  Eound,  the  which  Uther  Pen- 
dragon  gave  me,  and  when  it  is  full  complete  there  is  an  hun- 
dred knights  and  fifty.  And  as  for  an  hundred  good  knights 
I  have  myself,  but  I  lack  fifty,  for  so  many  have  been  slain  in 
my  days.  And  so  king  Leodegrance  delivered  his  daughter 
Guenever  unto  Merlin,  and  the  Table  Round,  with  the  hun- 
dred knights,  and  so  they  rode  freshly,  with  great  royalty, 
what  by  water  and  what  by  land,  till  that  they  came  nigh 
unto  London. 

Book  III.    Chapter  2. 

How  the  knights  of  the  Round  Table  were  ordained,  and  their  sieges 
blessed  by  the  bishop  of  Canterbury. 

"When  king  Arthur  heard  of  the  coming  of  Guenever  and 
the  hundred  knights  with  the  Table  Round,  then  king  Arthur 
made  great  joy  for  their  coming,  and  that  rich  present,  and 
said  openly,  This  fair  lady  is  passing  welcome  unto  me,  for  I 
have  loved  her  long,  and  therefore  there  is  nothing  so  lief  to 
me.  And  these  knights  with  the  Round  Table  please  me 
more  than  right  great  riches.  And  in  all  haste  the  king  let 
ordain  for  the  marriage  and  the  coronation  in  the  most 
honourablest  wise  that  could  be  devised.  Now  Merlin,  said 
king  Arthur,  go  thou  and  espy  me  in  all  this  land  fifty 


24  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

knights  which  be  of  most  prowess  and  worship.  Within 
short  time  Merlin  had  found  such  knights  that  should  fulfil 
twenty  and  eight  knights,  but  no  more  he  could  find.  Then 
the  bishop  of  Canterbury  was  fetched,  and  he  blessed  the 
sieges  with  great  royalty  and  devotion,  and  there  set  the  eight 
and  twenty  knights  in  their  sieges.  And  when  this  was  done 
Merlin  said,  Fair  sirs,  ye  must  all  arise  and  come  to  king 
Arthur  for  to  do  him  homage  ;  he  will  have  the  better  will  to 
maintain  you.  And  so  they  arose  and  did  their  homage. 
And  when  they  were  gone  Merlin  found  in  every  siege  letters 
of  gold  that  told  the  knights'  names  that  had  sitten  therein. 
But  two  sieges  were  void.  And  so  anon  came  young  Gawaine, 
and  asked  the  king  a  gift.  Ask,  said  the  king,  and  I  shall 
grant  it  you.  Sir,  I  ask  that  ye  will  make  me  knight  that 
same  day  ye  shall  wed  fair  Guenever.  I  will  do  it  with  a  good 
will,  said  king  Arthur,  and  do  unto  you  all  the  worship  that  I 
may,  for  I  must  by  reason  you  are  my  nephew,  my  sister's  son. 

It  is  now  the  Vigil  of  the  feast  of  Pentecost,  and  the  knights  are  all  at 
Arthur's  court.  Sir  Launcelot  is  suddenly  desired  to  go  on  a  mission 
by  a  fair  damsel  who  takes  him  to  a  forest  and  an  abbey. 

Book  XIII.    Chapter  1. 

Truly,  said  Sir  Launcelot,  a  gentlewoman  brought  me 
hither,  but  I  know  not  the  cause.  In  the  meanwhile,  as 
they  thus  stood  talking  together,  there  came  twelve  nuns 
which  brought  with  them  Galahad,  the  which  was  passing 
fair  and  well  made,  that  unneth  in  the  world  men  might 
not  find  his  match ;  and  all  those  ladies  wept.  Sir,  said 
the  ladies,  we  bring  you  here  this  child,  the  which  we  have 
nourished,  and  we  pray  you  to  make  him  a  knight ;  for  of 
a  more  worthier  man's  hand  may  he  not  receive  the  order 
of  knighthood.  Sir  Launcelot  beheld  that  young  squire,  and 
saw  him  seemly  and  demure  as  a  dove,  with  all  manner  of 
good  features,  that  he  wend  of  his  age  never  to  have  seen 
so  fair  a  man  of  form.  Then  said  Sir  Launcelot,  Cometh  this 
desire  of  himself  ?  He  and  all  they  said,  Yea.  Then  shall  he, 
said  Sir  Launcelot,  receive  the  high  order  of  knighthood  as  to- 
morrow at  the  reverence  of  the  high  feast.  That  night  Sir 
Launcelot  had  passing  good  cheer,  and  on  the  morn  at  the 


FRENCH  LITERATURE.  25 

liour  of  prime,  at  Galahad's  desire,  he  made  him  knight,  and 
said,  God  make  him  a  good  man,  For  beauty  faileth  you  not  as 
any  that  liveth. 

Sir  Launcelot  returns  to  court.  It  is  noticed  that  the  back  of  the  "  siege 
(seat)  perilous,"  at  the  Bound  Table  has  a  new  inscription  saying  that 
this  day  this  long  unfilled  seat  should  be  filled.  Before  sitting  down  to 
feast  on  this  day,  it  was  an  old  custom  to  see  "  some  adventure." 

Book  XIII.    Chapter  S. 

So  as  they  stood  speaking,  in  came  a  squire,  and  said  unto 
the  king,  Sir,  I  bring  unto  you  marvellous  tidings.  What 
be  they  ?  said  the  king.  Sir,  there  is  here  beneath  at  the  river 
a  great  stone,  which  I  saw  fleet  above  the  water,  and  therein 
saw  I  sticking  a  sword.  The  king  said,  I  will  see  that  marvel. 
So  all  the  knights  went  with  him,  and  when  they  came 
unto  the  river,  they  found  there  a  stone  fleeting,  as  it  were 
of  red  marble,  and  therein  stack  a  fair  and  a  rich  sword, 
and  in  the  pomell  thereof  were  precious  stones,  wrought  with 
subtil  letters  of  gold.  Then  the  barons  read  the  letters,  which 
said  in  this  wise  :  Never  shall  man  take  me  hence  but  only  he 
by  whose  side  I  ought  to  hang,  and  he  shall  be  the  best  knight 
of  the  world.  When  the  king  had  seen  these  letters,  he 
said  unto  Sir  Launcelot,  Fair  sir,  this  sword  ought  to  be  yours, 
for  I  am  sure  ye  be  the  best  knight  of  the  world.  Then 
Sir  Launcelot  answered  full  soberly  :  Certes,  sir,  it  is  not  my 
sword  :  also,  sir,  wit  ye  well  I  have  no  hardiness  to  set 
my  hand  to,  for  it  longed  not  to  hang  by  my  side.  Also 
who  that  assayeth  to  take  that  sword,  and  faileth  of  it, 
he  shall  receive  a  wound  by  that  sword,  that  he  shall  not 
be  whole  long  after.  And  I  will  that  ye  wit  that  this  same 
day  will  the  adventures  of  the  Sancgreal,  that  is  called  the 
holy  vessel,  begin. 

Sir  Gawaine  tries  to  draw  out  the  sword  but  foils.  They  sit  at  table  and  an 
old  man  brings  in  the  young  knight,  Sir  Galahad. 

Book  XIII.     Chapter  4. 

Then  the  old  man  made  the  young  man  to  unarm  him  ;  and 
he  was  in  a  coat  of  red  sendel,  and  bare  a  mantle  upon 
his  shoulder  that  was  furred  with  ermine,  and  put  that 


26  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

upon  him.  And  the  old  knight  said  unto  the  young  knight, 
Sir,  follow  me.  And  anon  he  led  him  unto  the  siege  peril- 
ous, where  beside  sat  Sir  Launcelot,  and  the  good  man.  lift 
up  the  cloth,  and  found  there  letters  that  said  thus  :  This 
is  the  siege  of  Galahad  the  haut  prince.  Sir,  said  the  old 
knight,  wit  ye  well  that  place  is  yours.  And  then  he  set  him 

down  surely  in  that  siege ""....    Then 

all  the  knights  of  the  Table  Round  marvelled  them  greatly  of 
Sir  Galahad,  that  he  durst  sit  there  in  that  siege  perilous,  and 
was  so  tender  of  age,  and  wist  not  from  whence  he  came, 
but  all  only  by  God,  and  said,  This  is  he  by  whom  the 
Sancgreal  shall  be  achieved,  for  there  sat  never  none  but  he, 
but  he  were  mischieved. 

King  Arthur  showed  the  stone  with  the  sword  in  it  to  Sir  Galahad.  He 
lightly  drew  out  the  sword  and  put  it  in  his  sheath.  Then  the  king  had 
all  his  knights  come  together  to  joust  ere  they  departed. 

Book  XIII.     Chapter  6. 

Now,  said  the  king,  I  am  sure  at  this  quest  of  the  Sancgreal 
shall  all  ye  of  the  Table  Round  depart,  and  never  shall  I  see 
you  again  whole  together,  therefore  I  will  see  you  all  whole 
together  in  the  meadow  of  Camelot,  to  just  and  to  tourney, 
that  after  your  death  men  may  speak  of  it,  that  such  good 
knights  were  wholly  together  such  a  day.  As  unto  that 
council,  and  at  the  king's  request,  they  accorded  all,  and 
took  on  their  harness  that  longed  unto  justing.  But  all  this 
moving  of  the  king  was  for  this  intent,  for  to  see  Galahad 
proved,  for  the  king  deemed  he  should  not  lightly  come  again 
unto  the  court  after  his  departing.  So  were  they  assembled  in 
the  meadow,  both  more  and  less.  Then  Sir  Galahad,  by  the 
prayer  of  the  king  and  the  queen,  did  upon  him  a  noble  jesser- 
ance,  and  also  he  did  on  his  helm,  but  shield  would  he  take 
none  for  no  prayer  of  the  king.  And  then  Sir  Gawaine  and 
other  knights  prayed  him  to  take  a  spear.  Right  so  he  did  ; 
and  the  queen  was  in  a  tower  with  all  her  ladies  for  to  behold 
that  tournament.  Then  Sir  Galahad  dressed  him  in  the  midst 
of  the  meadow,  and  began  to  break  spears  marvellously,  that 
all  men  had  wonder  of  him,  for  he  there  surmounted  all  other 
knights,  for  within  a  while  he  had  thrown  down  many  good 


FRENCH  LITERATURE.  27 

knights  of  the  Table  Round  save  twain,  that  was  Sir  Launce- 
lot  and  Sir  Percivale. 

Book  XIII.    Chapter  7. 

And  then  the  king  and  all  estates  went  home  unto  Camelot, 
and  so  went  to  evensong  to  the  great  minster.  And  so  after 
upon  that  to  supper,  and  every  knight  sat  in  his  own  place  as 
they  were  toforehand.  Then  anon  they  heard  cracking  and 
crying  of  thunder,  that  them  thought  the  place  should  all  to- 
drive.  In  the  midst  of  this  blast  entered  a  sun-beam  more 
clearer  by  seven  times  than  ever  they  saw  day,  and  all  they 
were  alighted  of  the  grace  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  Then  began 
every  knight  to  behold  other,  and  either  saw  other  by  their 
seeming  fairer  than  ever  they  saw  afore.  Not  for  then 
there  was  no  knight  might  speak  one  word  a  great  while, 
and  so  they  looked  every  man  on  other,  as  they  had  been 
dumb.  Then  there  entered  into  the  hall  the  holy  Graile 
covered  with  white  samite,  but  there  was  none  might  see 
it,  nor  who  bare  it.  And  there  was  all  the  hall  full  filled 
with  good  odours,  and  every  knight  had  such  meats  and 
drinks  as  he  best  loved  in  this  world :  and  when  the  holy 
Graile  had  been  borne  through  the  hall,  then  the  holy 
vessel  departed  suddenly,  that  they  wist  not  where  it  be- 
came. Then  had  they  all  breath  to  speak.  -And  then  the 
king  yielded  thankings  unto  God  of  his  good  grace  that 
he  had  sent  them.  Certes,  said  the  king,  we  ought  to  thank 
our  Lord  Jesu  greatly,  for  that  he  hath  shewed  us  this  day 
at  the  reverence  of  this  high  feast  of  Pentecost.  Now,  said 
Sir  Gawaine,  we  have  been  served  this  day  of  what  meats 
and  drinks  we  thought  on,  but  one  thing  beguiled  us,  we 
might  not  see  the  holy  Graile,  it  was  so  preciously  covered : 
wherefore  I  will  make  here  avow,  that  to-morn,  without 
longer  abiding,  I  shall  labour  in  the  quest  of  the  Sancgreal, 
that  I  shall  hold  me  out  a  twelvemonth  and  a  day,  or  more  if 
need  be,  and  never  shall  I  return  again  unto  the  court  till 
I  have  seen  it  more  openly  than  it  hath  been  seen  here  ;  and  if 
I  may  not  speed,  I  shall  return  again  as  he  that  may  not 
be  against  the  will  of  our  Lord  Jesu  Christ.  When  they  of  the 
Table  Round  heard  Sir  Gawaine  say  so,  they  arose  up  the  most 
party,  and  made  such  avows  as  Sir  Gawaine  had  made. 


28  SOffa  AtftF  LEGEND. 

• 

Book  XVII.    Chapter  20. 

How  Galahad  and  his  fellows  were  fed  of  the  holy  Sangreal,  and  how 
our  Lord  appeared  to  them,  and  other  things. 

Then  king  Pelles  and  his  son  departed.  And  therewithal 
beseemed  them  that  there  came  a  man  and  four  angels  from 
heaven,  clothed  in  likeness  of  a  bishop,  and  had  a  cross  in  his 
hand,  and  these  four  angels  bare  him  up  in  a  chair,  and 
set  him  down  before  the  table  of  silver  whereupon  the  Sanc- 
greal  was,  and  it  seemed  that  he  had  in  midst  of  his  fore- 
head letters  that  said,  See  ye  here  Joseph  the  first  bishop 
of  Christendom,  the  same  which  our  Lord  succoured  in 
the  city  of  Sarras,  in  the  spiritual  place.  Then  the  knights 
marvelled,  for  that  bishop  was  dead  more  than  three  hundred 
years  tofore.  Oh  knights,  said  he,  marvel  not,  for  I  was 
sometime  an  earthly  man.  With  that  they  heard  the  chamber 
door  open,  and  there  they  saw  angels,  and  two  bare  candles  of 
wax,  and  the  third  a  towel,  and  the  fourth  a  spear  which  bled 
marvellously,  that  three  drops  fell  within  a  box  which  he  held 
with  his  other  hand.  And  they  set  the  candles  upon  the 
table,  and  the  third  the  towel  upon  the  vessel,  and  the  fourth, 
the  holy  spear  even  upright  upon  the  vessel.  And  then 
the  bishop  made  semblant  as  though  he  would  have  gone 
to  the  sacring  of  the  mass.  And  then  he  took  an  ubbly, 
which  was  made  in  likeness  of  bread;  and  at  the  lifting 
up  there  came  a  figure  in  likeness  of  a  child,  and  the  visage 
was  as  red  and  as  bright  as  any  fire,  and  smote  himself  into 
the  bread,  so  that  they  all  saw  it,  that  the  bread  was  formed 
of  a  fleshly  man,  and  then  he  put  it  into  the  holy  vessel  again. 
And  then  he  did  that  longed  to  a  priest  to  do  to  a  mass.  And 
then  he  went  to  Galahad  and  kissed  him,  and  bad  him  go  and 
kiss  his  fellows,  and  so  he  did  anon.  Now,  said  he,  servants  of 
Jesu  Christ,  ye  shall  be  fed  afore  this  table  with  sweet  meats, 
that  never  knights  tasted.  And  when  he  had  said,  he  vanished 
away;  and  they  set  them  at  the  table  in  great  dread,  and  made 
their  prayers.  Then  looked  they,  and  saw  a  man  come  out  of 
the  holy  vessel,  that  had  all  the  signs  of  the  passion  of 
Jesu  Christ,  bleeding  all  openly,  and  said,  My  knights  and  my 
servants  and  my  true  children,  which  be  come  out  of  deadly 
life  into  spiritual  life,  I  will  now  no  longer  hide  me  from  you, 


FRENCH  LITER  A  TT7RE.  29 

but  ye  shall  see  now  a  part  of  my  secrets  and  of  my  hid 
things  :  now  hold  and  receive  the  high  meat  which  ye  have  so 
much  desired.  Then  took  he  himself  the  holy  vessel,  and 
came  to  Galahad,  and  he  kneeled  down  and  there  he  received 
his  Saviour,  and  after  him  so  received  all  his  fellows  ;  and  they 
thought  it  so  sweet  that  it  was  marvellous  to  tell.  Then  said 
he  to  Galahad,  Son,  wotest  thou  what  I  hold  betwixt  my 
hands?  Nay,  said  he,  but  if  ye  will  tell  me.  This  is,  said  he, 
the  holy  dish  wherein  I  ate  the  lamb  on  Sher-thursday.  And 
now  hast  thou  seen  that  thou  most  desiredst  to  see,  but  yet 
hast  thou  not  seen  it  so  openly  as  thou  shalt  see  it  in  the 
city  of  Sarras,  in  the  spiritual  place. 

LYRIC  POETRY— FRENCH. 

Lyric  poetry  sprang  up  very  early  in  Northern  France, 
having  a  spontaneous  and  abundant  growth  in  the  twelfth 
and  thirteenth  centuries.  Of  the  earliest  lyrics,  the  critics 
distinguish  two  varieties  (1)  the  Romance,  and  (2)  the  Pas- 
tourelle.  These  are  generally  dramatic  love  stories,  full  of 
gay  and  simple  life  and  extremely  artistic  and  musical  in 
form.  Along  with  these  was  produced  a  vast  amount  of 
simple  lyric  poetry  on  love  and  other  personal  emotions.  The 
number  of  poems  written  was  immense.  About  two  hundred 
names  of  poets  have  come  down  to  us,  besides  hundreds  of 
anonymous  pieces. 

The  Romances  and  Pastourelles  of  the  northern  trouv&res 
were  soon  greatly  influenced  by  the  more  artful  poetry  of  the 
Provencal  troubadours,  producing  the  highly  artificial  but 
charming  rondeaus  and  ballades  of  the  fourteenth  and  fif- 
teenth centuries.  But  the  freshest,  most  individual  work  is 
that  of  the  earlier  time. 

CHATELAIN  DE  COUCY. 

Thirteenth  Century. 

The  first  approach  of  the  sweet  spring 

Returning  here  once  more, — 
The  memory  of  the  love  that  holds 


30  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

In  my  fond  heart  such  power, — 
The  thrush  again  his  song  assaying, — 
The  little  rills  o'er  pebbles  playing, 

And  sparkling  as  they  fall, — 

The  memory  recall 
Of  her  on  whom  my  heart's  desire 
Is,  shall  be,  fixed  till  I  expire. 

With  every  season  fresh  and  new 

That  love  is  more  inspiring : 
Her  eyes,  her  face,  all  bright  with  joy,— 

Her  coming,  her  retiring, 
Her  faithful  words,  her  winning  ways,— 
That  sweet  look,  kindling  up  the  blaze 

Of  love,  so  gently  still, 

To  wound,  but  not  to  kill, — 
So  that  when  most  I  weep  and  sigh, 
So  much  the  higher  springs  my  joy. 

— Tr.  by  TAYLOB. 

THIBAUT  OF  CHAMPAGNE, 

KING  OF  NAVARRE. 

Early  Thirteenth  Century. 

Lady,  the  fates  command,  and  I  must  go,— 

Leaving  the  pleasant  land  so  dear  to  me : 
Here  my  heart  suffered  many  a  heavy  woe ; 

But  what  is  left  to  love,  thus  leaving  thee? 
Alas !  that  cruel  land  beyond  the  sea ! 

Why  thus  dividing  many  a  faithful  heart, 
Never  again  from  pain  and  sorrow  free, 

Never  again  to  meet,  when  thus  they  part  ? 

I  see  not,  when  thy  presence  bright  I  leave, 

How  wealth,  or  joy,  or  peace  can  be  my  lot ; 
Ne'er  yet  my  spirit  found  such  cause  to  grieve 

As  now  in  leaving  thee ;  and  if  thy  thought 
Of  me  in  absence  should  be  sorrow-fraught, 

Oft  will  my  heart  repentant  turn  to  thee, 
Dwelling,  in  fruitless  wishes,  on  this  spot, 

And  all  the  gracious  words  here  said  to  me. 

O  gracious  God !  to  thee  I  bend  my  knee, 

For  thy  sake  yielding  all  I  love  and  prize ; 
And  O,  how  mighty  must  that  influence  be, 


FRENCH  LITERATURE.  31 

That  steals  me  thus  from  all  my  cherished  joys ! 
Here,  ready,  then,  myself  surrendering, 

Prepared  to  serve  thee,  I  submit ;  and  ne'er 
To  one  so  faithful  could  I  service  bring, 

So  kind  a  master,  so  beloved  and  dear. 

And  strong  my  ties,— my  grief  unspeakable  ! 

Grief,  all  my  choicest  treasures  to  resign  ; 
Yet  stronger  still  the  affections  that  impel 

My  heart  toward  Him,  the  God  whose  love  is  mine. 
That  holy  love,  how  beautiful !  how  strong ! 

Even  wisdom's  favorite  sons  take  refuge  there ; 
'T  is  the  redeeming  gem  that  shines  among 

Men's  darkest  thoughts,— for  ever  bright  and  fair. 

—TV.  by  TAYLOR, 

GAGE  BRULE. 

Thirteenth  Century. 

The  birds,  the  birds  of  mine  own  land 

I  heard  in  Brittany  ; 
And  as  they  sung,  they  seemed  to  me 
The  very  same  I  heard  with  thee. 
And  if  it  were  indeed  a  dream, 
Such  thoughts  they  taught  my  soul  to  frame 
That  straight  a  plaintive  number  came, 

Which  still  shall  be  my  song, 
Till  that  reward  is  mine  which  love  hath  promised  long. 

—TV.  by  TAYLOB. 

RAOUL  DE  SOISSONS. 

Thirteenth  Century. 

Ah !  beauteous  maid, 

Of  form  so  fair  ! 
Pearl  of  the  world, 

Beloved  and  dear ! 
How  does  my  spirit  eager  pine 
But  once  to  press  those  lips  of  thine  !— 
Yes,  beauteous  maid, 

Of  form  so  fair ! 
Pearl  of  the  world, 
Beloved  and  dear ! 

And  if  the  theft 
Thine  ire  awake, 


32  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

A  hundred  fold 

I  'd  give  it  back, — 
Thou  beauteous  maid, 

Of  form  so  fair ! 
Pearl  of  the  world, 
Beloved  and  dear ! 

—Tr.  by  TATT.OR. 

LATER  FRENCH  LYRICS. 

During  the  latter  half  of  the  thirteenth  century  several  new 
and  highly  artificial  forms  of  verse  were  developed.  The 
chief  of  these  were  the  Ballade  and  Chant  Royal,  the 
Rondel,  Rondeau,  Triolet,  Virelay.  These  are  all  alike  in 
being  short  poems,  generally  treating  of  love,  and  making 
special  use  of  a  refrain  and  the  repetition  of  words  and  lines. 
They  differ  in  the  number  of  verses  in  a  stanza,  of  stanzas  in 
the  poem,  and  the  order  and  number  of  rhymes.  Their  poetic 
value  is  not  great  because  the  poet  so  easily  lost  sight  of  his 
subject  in  perfecting  his  verse  form. 

A  TRIOLET. 

Take  time  while  yet  it  is  in  view, 

For  fortune  is  a  fickle  fair : 
Days  fade,  and  others  spring  anew  ; 
Then  take  the  moment  still  in  view. 
What  boots  to  toil  and  cares  pursue  ? 

Each  month  a  new  moon  hangs  in  air. 
Take,  then,  the  moment  still  in  view, 

For  fortune  is  a  fickle  fair. 

— FBOISSART.    Tr.  ANONYMOUS. 

RONDEL. 

Now  Time  throws  off  his  cloak  again 
Of  ermined  frost,  and  cold  and  rain, 
And  clothes  him  in  the  embroidery 
Of  glittering  son  and  clear  blue  sky. 
With  beast  and  bird  the  forest  rings, 
Each  in  his  jargon  cries  or  sings  ; 


FRENCH  LITERATURE.  33 

And  Time  throws  off  his  cloak  again 
Of  ermined  frost,  and  cold  and  rain. 

River,  and  fount,  and  tinkling  brook 

Wear  in  their  dainty  livery 

Drops  of  silver  jewelry ; 
In  new-made  suit  they  merry  look  ; 
And  Time  throws  off  his  cloak  again 
Of  ermined  frost,  and  cold  and  rain. 

— CHARLES  D' ORLEANS.    Tr.  by  LONGFELLOW. 

THE  BALLADE  OF  DEAD  LADIES. 

Tell  me  now  in  what  hidden  way  is 

Lady  Flora  the  lovely  Roman  ? 
Where  's  Hipparchia,  and  where  is  Thais, 

Neither  of  them  the  fairer  woman  ? 

Where  is  Echo,  beheld  of  no  man, 
Only  heard  on  river  and  mere, — 

She  whose  beauty  Avas  more  than  human?  .... 
But  where  are  the  snows  of  yester-year? 

Where  's  Heloise,  the  learned  nun, 

For  whose  sake  Abeillard,  I  ween, 
Lost  manhood  and  put  priesthood  on  ? 

(From  love  he  won  such  dule  and  teen !) 

And  where,  I  pray  you,  is  the  Queen 
Who  willed  that  Buridan  should  steer 

Sewed  in  a  sack's  mouth  down  the  Seine?  .... 
But  where  are  the  snows  of  yester-year  ? 

White  Queen  Blanche,  like  a  queen  of  lilies, 

With  a  voice  like  any  mermaiden, — 
Bertha  Broadfoot,  Beatrice,  Alice, 

And  Ermengarde  the  lady  of  Maine, — 

And  that  good  Joan  whom  Englishmen 
At  Rouen  doomed  and  burned  her  there, — 

Mother  of  God,  where  are  they  then  ?  .  .  .  . 
But  where  are  the  snows  of  yester-year  ? 

Nay,  never  ask  this  week,  fair  lord, 

Where  they  are  gone,  nor  yet  this  year, 
Save  with  thus  much  for  an  overword,— 

But  where  are  the  snows  of  yester-year  ? 

— VILLON.     Tr.  by  D.  G.  ROSSETTI. 


34  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

LYRIC  POETRY— PROVENgAL. 

Modern  scholars  separate  the  treatment  of  Provencal  liter- 
ature from  that  of  French.  It  was  written  in  a  different 
dialect,  was  subject  to  somewhat  different  laws  of  develop- 
ment, and  after  a  short  period  of  activity  died  almost  com- 
pletely away. 

Provencal  literature  is  that  produced  in  ancient  Provence  or 
Southern  France.  Its  period  of  life  extended  from  the 
eleventh  to  the  fifteenth  centuries,  its  middle  and  only  im- 
portant period  being  that  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  cen- 
turies. This  literature  contains  examples  of  all  the  varieties 
of  French  literature  of  the  Middle  Ages,  but  the  only  work 
that  is  original  and  important  is  its  lyric  poetry.  This  was 
composed  by  the  troubadours  (corresponding  to  the  French 
trouv&res)  and  sung  by  jongleurs  or  minstrels.  The  names  of 
460  Provengal  poets  and  251  anonymous  pieces  have  come 
down  to  us.  The  one  great  theme  of  troubadour  singing — 
one,  too,  upon  which  he  was  original  and  a  master — was  that 
of  passionate  love.  With  this  as  subject,  these  poets  united 
an  eagerness  for  form,  and  were  the  first  to  perfect  verse  in 
any  modern  language. 

PIERRE  ROGIERS. 

Twelfth  Century. 
Who  has  not  looked  upon  her  brow 

Has  never  dreamed  of  perfect  bliss, 
But  once  to  see  her  is  to  know 
What  beauty,  what  perfection,  is. 

Her  charms  are  of  the  growth  of  heaven, 
She  decks  the  night  with  hues  of  day : 

Blest  are  the  eyes  to  which  't  is  given 
On  her  to  gaze  the  soul  away ! 

— 2V.  by  COSTELLO. 

GUILLEM  DE  CABESTANH. 

Twelfth  Century. 

No,  never  since  the  fatal  time 
When  the  world  fell  for  woman's  crime, 


FRENCH  LITERATURE.  86 

Has  Heaven  in  tender  mercy  sent — 
All  preordaining,  all  foreseeing — 

A  breath  of  purity  that  lent 
Existence  to  so  fair  a  being ! 
Whatever  earth  can  boast  of  rare, 

Of  precious,  and  of  good, — 
Gaze  on  her  form,  't  is  mingled  there, 

With  added  grace  endued. 

Why,  why  is  she  so  much  above 

All  others  whom  I  might  behold, — 
Whom  I,  unblamed,  might  dare  to  love, 

To  whom  my  sorrows  might  be  told  ? 
O,  when  I  see  her,  passing  fair, 
I  feel  how  vain  is  all  my  care : 
I  feel  she  all  transcends  my  praise, 
I  feel  she  must  contemn  my  lays : 
I  feel,  alas !  no  claim  have  I 
To  gain  that  bright  divinity  ! 
Were  she  less  lovely,  less  divine, 
Less  passion  and  despair  were  mine. 

— Tr.  by  COSTELLO. 


THE  MONK  OF  MONTAUDON. 

Thirteenth  Century. 

I  love  the  court  by  wit  and  worth  adorned, 
A  man  whose  errors  are  abjured  and  mourned, 
My  gentle  mistress  by  a  streamlet  clear, 
Pleasure,  a  handsome  present,  and  good  cheer. 

I  love  fat  salmon,  richly  dressed,  at  noon  ; 
I  love  a  faithful  friend  both  late  and  soon. 

I  hate  small  gifts,  a  man  that's  poor  and  proud, 

The  young  who  talk  incessantly  and  loud ; 

I  hate  in  low-bred  company  to  be, 

I  hate  a  knight  that  has  not  courtesy. 

I  hate  a  lord  with  arms  to  war  unknown, 

I  hate  a  priest  or  monk  with  beard  o'ergrown ; 

A  doting  husband,  or  a  tradesman's  son, 

Who  apes  a  noble,  and  would  pass  for  one. 

I  hate  much  water  and  too  little  wine, 

A  prosperous  villain  and  a  false  divine  ; 

A  niggard  lout  who  sets  the  dice  aside ; 


36  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

A  flirting  girl  all  frippery  and  pride ; 
A  cloth  too  narrow,  and  a  board  too  wide ; 
Him  who  exalts  his  handmaid  to  his  wife, 
And  her  who  makes  her  groom  her  lord  for  life ; 
The  man  who  kills  his  horse  with  wanton  speed, 
And  him  who  fails  his  friend  in  time  of  need. 

— 2V.  by  COSTELLO. 

PIERRE  VIDAL. 

End  Twelfth  Century, 

Of  all  sweet  birds,  I  love  the  most 

The  lark  and  nightingale : 
For  they  the  first  of  all  awake, 

The  opening  spring  with  songs  to  hail. 

And  I,  like  them,  when  silently 

Each  Troubadour  sleeps  on, 
Will  wake  me  up,  and  sing  of  love 

And  thee,  Vierna,  fairest  one ! 

The  rose  on  thee  its  bloom  bestowed, 

The  lily  gave  its  white, 
And  nature,  when  it  planned  thy  form 

A  model  framed  of  fair  and  bright. 

For  nothing,  sure,  that  could  be  given, 

To  thee  hath  been  denied ; 
That  there  each  thought  of  love  and  joy 

In  bright  perfection  might  reside. 

— Tr.  by  TAYLOR. 

GUIRAUT  DE  BORNEILH. 

End  Thirteenth  Century. 
Companion  dear !  or  sleeping  or  awaking, 

Sleep  not  again !  for,  lo !  the  morn  is  nigh, 
And  in  the  east  that  early  star  is  breaking, 
The  day's  forerunner,  known  unto  mine  eye. 
The  morn,  the  morn  is  near. 

Companion  dear !  with  carols  sweet  I'll  call  thee ; 

Sleep  not  again  !  I  hear  the  birds'  blithe  song 
Loud  in  the  woodlands ;  evil  may  befall  thee, 

And  jealous  eyes  awaken,  tarrying  long, 
Now  that  the  morn  is  near. 


FRENCH  LITERATURE,  37 

Companion  dear !  forth  from  the  window  looking, 
Attentive  mark  the  signs  of  yonder  heaven ; 

Judge  if  aright  I  read  what  they  betoken : 
Thine  all  the  loss,  if  vain  the  warning  given. 
The  morn,  the  morn  is  near. 

Companion  dear !  since  thou  from  hence  wert  straying, 
Nor  sleep  nor  rest  these  eyes  have  visited  ; 

My  prayers  unceasing  to  the  Virgin  paying, 
That  thou  in  peace  thy  backward  way  might  tread. 
The  morn,  the  morn,  is  near. 

Companion  dear !  hence  to  the  fields  with  me ! 

Me  thou  forbad' st  to  slumber  through  the  night, 
And  I  have  watched  that  livelong  night  for  thee  ; 

But  thou  in  song  or  me  hast  no  delight, 
And  now  the  morn  is  near. 

ANSWER. 

Companion  dear !  so  happily  sojourning, 
So  blest  am  I,  I  care  not  forth  to  speed : 
Here  brightest  beauty  reigns,  her  smiles  adorning 
Her  dwelling-place, — then  wherefore  should  I  heed 
The  morn  or  jealous  eyes? 

—2V.  by  TAYLOR. 

FABLES  AND  TALES. 
FABLES. 

A  large  and  popular  class  of  writing  of  the  French  Middle 
Ages  was  that  of  FABLIAUX  or  Fables.  A  Fable  is  "  a  recital, 
for  the  most  part  comic,  of  a  real  or  possible  event  occurring 
in  the  ordinary  affairs  of  human  life." l  We  possess  some  two 
hundred  of  these  fables,  varying  in  length  from  twenty  to  five 
hundred  lines.  They  are  generally  mocking,  jocular,  free- 
spoken,  half  satirical  stories  of  familiar  people,  and  incidents 
in  ordinary  life.  The  follies  of  the  clergy  are  especially  ex- 
posed, though  the  peasants,  knights,  and  even  kings  furnish 
frequent  subjects.  They  are  commonly  very  free  and  often 

i  Quoted  by  Saintsbury  from  M.  de  Montaiglon,  editor  of  the  latest  col- 
lection of  Fabliaux  (Paris  1872-'88). 


38  8ONG  AND  LEGEND. 

licentious  in  language.    The  following  is  an  example  of  the 
simpler  kind  of  Fables. 

THE  PRIEST  WHO  ATE  MULBERRIES. 

Ye  lordlings  all,  come  lend  an  ear  ; 
It  boots  ye  naught  to  chafe  or  fleer, 

As  overgrown  with  pride : 
Ye  needs  must  hear  Dan  Guerin  tell 
What  once  a  certain  priest  befell, 

To  market  bent  to  ride. 

The  morn  began  to  shine  so  bright, 
When  up  this  priest  did  leap  full  light 

And  called  his  folk  around : 
He  bade  them  straight  bring  out  his  mare, 
For  he  would  presently  repair 

Unto  the  market-ground. 

So  bent  he  was  on  timely  speed, 

So  pressing  seemed  his  worldly  need, 

He  weened  't  were  little  wrong 
If  pater-nosters  he  delayed, 
And  cast  for  once  they  should  be  said 

E'en  as  he  rode  along. 

And  now  with  tower  and  turret  near 
Behold  the  city's  walls  appear, 

When,  as  he  turned  aside, 
He  chanced  in  evil  hour  to  see 
All  hard  at  hand  a  mulberry-tree 

That  spread  both  far  and  wide. 

Its  berries  shone  so  glossy  black, 
The  priest  his  lips  began  to  smack, 

Full  fain  to  pluck  the  fruit ; 
But,  woe  the  while !  the  trunk  was  tall, 
And  many  a  brier  and  thorn  did  crawl 

Around  that  mulberry's  root. 

The  man,  howbe,  might  not  forbear, 
But  reckless  all  he  pricked  his  mare 

In  thickest  of  the  brake  ; 
Then  climbed  his  saddle-bow  amain, 


FRENCH  LITERATURE. 

And  tiptoe  'gan  to  stretch  and  strain 

Some  nether  bough  to  take. 
A  nether  bough  he  raught  at  last ; 
He  with  his  right  hand  held  it  fast, 

And  with  his  left  him  fed : 
His  sturdy  mare  abode  the  shock, 
And  bore,  as  steadfast  as  a  rock, 

The  struggling  overhead. 

So  feasted  long  the  merry  priest, 
Nor  much  bethought  him  of  his  beast 

Till  hunger's  rage  was  ended : 
Then,  "  Sooth !  "  quoth  he,  "  whoe'er  should  cry, 
'  What  ho,  fair  sir ! '  in  passing  by, 

Would  leave  me  here  suspended." 

Alack !  for  dread  of  being  hanged, 
With  voice  so  piercing  shrill  he  twanged 

The  word  of  luckless  sound, 
His  beast  sprang  forward  at  the  cry, 
And  plumb  the  priest  dropped  down  from  high 

Into  the  brake  profound. 

There,  pricked  and  pierced  with  many  a  thorn, 
And  girt  with  brier,  and  all  forlorn, 

Naught  boots  him  to  complain  : 
Well  may  ye  ween  how  ill  bested 
He  rolled  him  on  that  restless  bed, 

But  rolled  and  roared  in  vain : 

For  there  algates  he  must  abide 
The  glowing  noon,  the  eventide, 

The  livelong  night  and  all ; 
The  whiles  with  saddle  swinging  round, 
And  bridle  trailing  on  the  ground, 

His  mare  bespoke  his  fall. 

O,  then  his  household  shrieked  for  dread, 
And  weened  at  least  he  must  be  dead ; 

His  lady  leman  swooned : 
Eftsoons  they  hie  them  all  to  look 
If  haply  in  some  dell  or  nook 

His  body  might  be  found. 

Through  all  the  day  they  sped  their  quest ; 
The  night  fled  on,  they  took  no  rest ; 


40  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Returns  the  morning  hour : 
When,  lo !  at  peeping  of  the  dawn. 
It  chanced  a  varlet  boy  was  drawn 

Nigh  to  the  mulberry-bower. 

The  woful  priest  the  help  descried : 
"  O,  save  my  life !  my  life !  "  he  cried, 

"  Enthralled  in  den  profound ! 
O,  pluck  me  out,  for  pity's  sake, 
From  this  inextricable  brake, 

Begirt  with  brambles  round  !  " 

"  Alas,  my  lord !  my  master  dear ! 
What  ugly  chance  hath  dropped  thee  here?  " 

Exclaimed  the  varlet  youth. 
"  'T  was  gluttony,"  the  priest  replied, 
With  peerless  folly  by  her  side : 
But  help  me  straight,  for  ruth !  " 

By  this  were  come  the  remnant  rout ; 
With  passing  toil  they  plucked  him  out, 

And  slowly  homeward  led : 
But,  all  so  tattered  in  his  hide, 
Long  is  he  fain  in  bed  to  bide, 

But  little  less  than  dead. 

—Tr.  by  WAY. 

A  special  development  of  the  fable  is  the  mock-epic  Rey- 
nard the  Fox,  one  of  the  most  noteworthy  developments  in 
literature  of  the  Middle  Ages.  It  is  an  elaborate,  semi-epic  set 
of  stories  in  which  Reynard  is  the  embodiment  of  cunning 
and  discreet  valor,  while  his  great  enemy,  Isegrim,  the  wolf, 
represents  stupid  strength.  From  the  beginning  of  this  set 
of  fables,  there  is  a  tone  of  satirical  comment  on  men  and 
their  affairs.  In  the  later  developments  of  the  story,  elabo- 
rate allegories  are  introduced,  and  monotonous  moralizings 
take  the  place  of  the  earlier,  simpler  humor. 

The  fable  reached  its  greatest  development  in  France,  but 
all  Europe  shared  in  making  and  delighting  in  it. 

Our  extracts  are  taken  from  Caxton's  translation  of  the 
Flemish  form  of  the  legend. 


FRENCH  LITERATURE.  41 

FROM  REYNARD  THE  FOX. 
Part  II.    Chapter  3S. 

REYNARD  AND  EBSWYNDE  (THE  WOLF'S  WIFE)  AT  THE  WELL. 

Then  spoke  Erswynde,  the  wolfs  wife,  "  Ach !  Fell  Rey- 
nard, no  man  can  keep  himself  from  thee,  thou  canst  so  well 
utter  thy  words  and  thy  falseness  ;  but  it  shall  be  evil  re- 
warded in  the  end.  How  broughtest  thou  me  once,  into 
the  well,  where  the  two  buckets  hung  by  one  cord  running 
through  one  pulley  which  went  one  up  and  another  down  ? 
Thou  sattest  in  one  bucket  beneath  in  the  pit  in  great 
dread.  I  came  thither  and  heard  thee  sigh  and  make  sorrow, 
and  asked  thee  how  thou  earnest  there.  Thou  saidst  that  thou 
hadst  there  so  many  good  fishes  eaten  out  of  the  water 
that  thy  belly  wouldst  burst.  I  said,  '  tell  me  how  I  shall 
come  to  thee.'  Then  saidst  thou:  'Aunt,  spring  into  that 
bucket  that  hangeth  there,  and  thou  shalt  come  anon  to  me.' 
I  did  so,  and  I  went  downward  and  ye  came  upward,  and 
then  I  was  all  angry.  Thou  saidst, '  thus  fareth  the  world,  that 
one  goeth  up  and  another  goeth  down.'  Then  sprang  ye  forth 
and  went  your  way,  and  I  abode  there  alone,  sitting  an  whole 
day,  sore  and  hungry  and  a-cold.  And  thereto  had  I  many 
a  stroke  ere  I  could  get  thence." 

"  Aunt,"  said  the  fox,  "  though  the  strokes  did  you  harm,  I 
had  leifer  ye  had  them  than  I,  for  ye  may  better  bear  them,  for 
one  of  us  must  needs  have  had  them.  I  taught  you  good ; 
will  you  understand  it  and  think  on  it,  that  ye  another 
time  take  heed  and  believe  no  man  over  hastily,  is  he  friend  or 
cousin.  For  every  man  seeketh  his  own  profit.  They  be 
now  fools  that  do  not  so,  and  especially  when  they  be  in 
jeopardy  of  their  lives." 

Part  II.    Chapter  S5. 

HOW  ISEGRYM  PROFFERED  HIS  GLOVE  TO  THE  FOX  FOR  TO  FIGHT 
WITH  HIM. 

The  wolf  said,  "I  may  well  forbear  your  mocks  and  your 
scorns,  and  also  your  fell,  venomous  words,  strong  thief 
that  you  are.  Ye  said  that  I  was  almost  dead  for  hunger 
when  ye  helped  me  in  my  need.  That  is  falsely  lied  ;  for 


42  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

it  was  but  a  bone  that  ye  gave  to  me  ;  ye  had  eaten  away 
all  the  flesh  that  was  thereon.  And  ye  mock  me  and  say  that 
I  am  hungry  here  where  I  stand.  That  touched  my  worship 
too  nigh.  What  many  a  spighty  word  have  ye  brought  forth 
with  false  lesings.1  And  that  I  have  conspired  the  king's  death, 
for  the  treasure  that  you  have  said  to  him  is  in  Hulsterlo. 
And  ye  have  also  my  wife  shamed  and  slandered  that  she 
shall  never  recover  it.  And  I  should  ever  be  disworshipped 
thereby  if  I  avenged  it  not.  I  have  forborne  you  long,  but 
now  ye  shall  not  escape  me.  I  cannot  make  here  of  great 
proof,  but  I  say  here  before  my  lord,  and  before  all  them 
that  been  here,  that  thou  art  a  false  traitor  and  a  murderer, 
and  that  I  shall  prove  and  make  good  on  thy  body  within  lists 
in  the  field,  and  that,  body  against  body.  And  then  shall  our 
strife  have  an  end.  And  thereto  I  cast  to  thee  my  glove, 
and  take  thou  it  up.  I  shall  have  right  of  thee  or  die  therefor. 

Reynard  the  Fox  thought,  "how  came  I  on  this  company? 
We  been  not  both  alike.4  I  shall  not  well  con3  stand  against 
this  strong  thief.  All  my  proof  is  now  come  to  an  end." 

Yet,  thought  the  fox,  "  I  have  good  advantage.  The  claws 
of  his  fore  feet  been  off  and  his  feet  been  yet  sore  thereof, 
when  for  my  sake  he  was  unshod.  He  shall  be  somewhat  the 
weaker." 

Then  said  the  fox,  "who  that  sayeth  that  I  am  a  traitor  or  a 
murderer  ?  I  say  he  lieth  falsely,  and  that  art  thou  especially 
Isegrym.  Thou  bringest  me  there  as  I  would  be.  This 
have  I  oft  desired.  Lo  !  there  is  my  pledge  that  all  thy 
words  been  false  and  that  I  shall  defend  me  and  make  good 
that  thou  liest. 

The  king  received  the  pledges  and  amitted4  the  battle,  and 
asked  borrows6  of  them  both,  that  on  the  morn  they  should 
come  and  perform  their  battle  and  do  as  they  ought  to  do. 
Then  the  Bear  and  the  Cat  were  borrows  for  the  wolf,  and  for 
the  Fox  were  borrows  Grymbert,*  the  dasse,7  and  Bytelnys.8 

TALES. 

French  mediaeval  literature  includes  many  tales  less  elabo- 

i  Lyings.  *  Of  equal  strength.  »  Know  how  to.  <  Admitted. 

6  Pledges,     o  The  badger.    "  A  small  fox.     » The  elder  daughter  of  the  apes. 


FRENCH  LITERATURE.  43 

rate  in  form  and  less  "  heroic  "  in  subject  than  the  epics  and 
romances  and  without  the  satire  and  humor  of  the  fables. 
The  best  of  them  are  the  love  stories,  and  of  these  the  most 
beautiful  is  Aucassin  and  Nicolette,  by  an  unknown  trouvere 
of  the  thirteenth  century.  It  is  an  alternation  of  prose 
narrative  and  dainty  narrative  lyrics.  The  story  is  that  of 
two  lovers  parted  temporarily  by  the  pride  and  cruelty  of  the 
youth's  father.  But,  remaining  true  to  each  other,  they  are, 
after  many  vicissitudes,  happily  united.  Our  extracts  are  from 
Bourdillon's  beautiful  translation. 

FROM  AUCASSIN  AND  NICOLETTE. 

/Sec.  1. — Who  were  fain  good  verse  to  hear, 
Of  the  aged  captives'  cheer, 
Of  two  children  fair  and  feat, 
Aucassin  and  Nicolette, — 
What  great  sorrows  suffered  he, 
And  what  deeds  did  valiantly 
For  his  love,  so  bright  of  blee  ? 
Sweet  the  song,  and  fair  the  say, 
Dainty  and  of  deft  array. 
So  astonied  wight  is  none, 
Nor  so  doleful  nor  undone, 
None  that  doth  so  sorely  ail, 
If  he  hear,  shall  not  be  hale, 
And  made  glad  again  for  bliss, 
So  sweet  it  is  ! 

The  hero  refuses  to  become  a  knight  and  go  to  war  unless  his  father  will 
give  him  Nicolette  for  wife. 

Sec.  S. — Aucassin  was  of  Beaucaire, 
And  abode  in  castle  fair. 
None  can  move  him  to  forget 
Dainty-fashioned  Nicolette 
Whom  his  sire  to  him  denies  ; 
And  his  mother  sternly  cries : 
"  Out  on  thee !  what  wilt  thou,  loon  ? 
Nicolette  is  blithe  and  boon  ? 
Castaway  from  Carthage  she  ! 
Bought  of  Paynim  compayne ! 


44  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

If  with  woman  thou  wilt  mate, 
Take  thee  wife  of  high  estate !  " 
"  Mother,  I  can  else  do  ne'er ! 
Nicolette  is  debonair ; 
Her  lithe  form,  her  face,  her  bloom, 
Do  the  heart  of  me  illume. 
Fairly  mine  her  love  may  be 
So  sweet  is  she !  " 

This  the  father  refuses  to  do,  and  has  Nicolette  shut  up  In  a  tower.  But 
the  son  stubbornly  persists.  At  last  it  is  agreed  that  if  Aucassin  re- 
turns from  fighting  he  may  see  and  kiss  his  lover. 

Sec.  9. — Aucassin  heard  of  the  kiss 

Which  on  return  shall  be  his. 
Had  one  given  him  of  pure  gold 
Marks  a  hundred  thousand  told, 
Not  so  blithe  of  hear  he  were. 
Rich  array  he  bade  them  bear : 
They  made  ready  for  his  wear. 
He  put  on  a  hauberk  lined, 
Helmet  on  his  head  did  bind, 
Girt  his  sword  with  hilt  pure  gold, 
Mounted  on  his  charger  bold ; 
Spear  and  buckler  then  he  took ; 
At  his  two  feet  cast  a  look : 
They  trod  in  the  stirrups  trim. 
Wondrous  proud  he  carried  him. 
His  dear  love  he  thought  upon, 
And  his  good  horse  spurred  anon, 
Who  right  eagerly  went  on. 
Through  the  gate  he  rode  straightway, 
Into  the  fray. 

Aucassin  was  greatly  successful,  but  on  his  return  his  father  would  not 
keep  his  promise,  and  shut  him  up  in  prison. 

Sec.  12, — Aucassin  was  put  in  prison,  as  you  have  listened 
and  heard,  and  Nicolette  on  the  other  hand,  was  in  the 
chamber.  It  was  in  the  summer-time,  in  the  month  of  May, 
when  the  days  are  warm,  long,  and  bright,  and  the  nights 
still  and  cloudless.  Nicolette  lay  one  night  on  her  bed  and 
saw  the  moon  shine  bright  through  a  window,  and  heard  the 
nightingale  sing  in  the  garden,  and  then  she  bethought  her  of 
Aucassin,  her  friend,  whom  she  loved  so  much.  She  began  to 


FRENCH  LITERATURE.  45 

consider  of  the  Count  Garin  of  Beaucaire,  who  hated  her  to 
death ;  and  she  thought  to  herself  that  she  would  remain 
there  no  longer ;  since  if  she  were  betrayed,  and  the  Count 
Garin  knew  it,  he  would  make  her  to  die  an  evil  death.  She 
perceived  that  the  old  woman  who  was  with  her  was  asleep. 
She  got  up,  and  put  on  a  gown  which  she  hadr  of  cloth-of-silk 
and  very  good  ;  and  she  took  bedclothes  and  towels,  and  tied 
one  to  another,  and  made  a  rope  as  long  as  she  could,  and  tied 
it  to  the  pillar  of  the  window,  and  let  herself  down  into  the 
garden  ;  and  she  took  her  dress  in  one  hand  before  and  in  the 
other  behind,  and  tucked  it  up,  because  of  the  dew  which  she 
saw  thick  on  the  grass,  and  she  went  away  down  in  the  garden. 

Her  hair  was  golden  and  in  little  curls,  and  her  eyes  blue- 
gray  and  laughing,  and  her  face  oval,  and  her  nose  high 
and  well  set,  and  her  lips  vermeil,  so  as  is  no  rose  nor  cherry  in 
summertime,  and  her  teeth  white  and  small,  and  her  bosom 
was  firm,  and  heaved  her  dress  as  if  it  had  been  two  walnuts  ; 
and  at  ween  the  sides  she  was  so  slender  that  you  could 
have  clasped  her  in  your  two  hands  ;  and  the  daisy  blos- 
soms which  she  broke  off  with  the  toes  of  her  feet,  which  lay 
fallen  over  on  the  bend  of  her  foot,  were  right  black  against 
her  feet  and  her  legs,  so  very  white  was  the  maiden. 

She  came  to  the  postern  door,  and  unfastened  it,  and  went 
out  through  the  streets  of  Beaucaire,  keeping  in  the  shadow, 
for  the  moon  shone  very  bright ;  and  she  went  on  till 
she  came  to  the  tower  where  her  lover  was.  The  tower 
was  shored  up  here  and  there,  and  she  crouched  down  by  one 
of  the  pillars,  and  wrapped  herself  in  her  mantle ;  and 
she  thrust  her  head  into  a  chink  in  the  tower,  which  was 
old  and  ruinous,  and  heard  Aucassin  within  weeping  and 
making  great  ado,  and  lamenting  for  his  sweet  friend  whom 
he  loved  so  much.  And  when  she  had  listened  enough  to  him 
she  began  to  speak. 

After  telling  each  their  love,  Nicolette  was  obliged  to  flee.    She  went  to 
a  great  forest  and  talked  with  the  herd-boys. 

Sec.  19.— Nicolette,  bright -favored  maid, 
To  the  herds  her  farewell  bade, 
And  her  journey  straight  addressed 
Right  amid  the  green  forest, 


46  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Down  a  path  of  olden  day ; 
Till  she  reached  an  open  way 
Where  seven  roads  fork,  that  go  out 
Through  the  region  round  about. 
Then  the  thought  within  her  grew, 
She  will  try  her  lover  true, 
If  he  love  her  as  he  said : 
She  took  many  a  lily  head, 
With  the  bushy  kermes-oak  shoot, 
And  of  leafy  boughs  to  boot, 
And  a  bower  so  fair  made  she, — 
Daintier  I  did  never  see ! 
By  the  ruth  of  heaven  she  sware, 
Should  Aucassin  come  by  there, 
And  not  rest  a  little  space, 
For  her  love's  sake,  in  that  place, 
He  should  ne'er  her  lover  be, 
Nor  his  love  she. 

Aucassin  escapes,  comes  to  the  forest,  finds  his  lover,  and  they  agree  to  go 
away  together. 

Sec.  27.. — Aucassin,  the  fair,  the  blond, 
Gentle  knight  and  lover  fond, 
Bode  from  out  the  thick  forest ; 
In  his  arms  his  love  was  pressed, 
On  the  saddlebow  before ; 
And  he  kissed  her  o'er  and  o'er, 
Eyes  and  brows  and  lips  and  chin. 
Then  to  him  did  she  begin ; 

"  Aucassin,  fair  lover  sweet, 
To  what  country  shall  we  fleet  ?  " 

"  Sweet  my  love,  what  should  I  know  ? 
Little  care  I  where  we  go, 
In  the  greenwood  or  away, 
So  I  am  with  thee  alway." 
Hill  and  vale  they  fleeted  by, 
Town  and  fortress  fenced  high, 
Till  they  came  at  dawn  of  day 
Where  the  sea  before  them  lay ; 
There  they  lighted  on  the  sand, 

Beside  the  strand. 

They  have  many  adventures  and  are  again  separated.  Nicolette  is  carried 
to  Carthage.  She  finally  escapes  and  makes  her  way  in  disguise  to 
Beaucaire  where  Aucassin  was. 


FRENCH  LITERATURE.  47 


Sec.  39. — Aucassin  was  at  Beaucaire 

'Neath  the  tower  a  morning  fair. 
On  a  stair  he  sat  without, 
With  his  brave  lords  round  about : 
Saw  the  leaves  and  flowers  spring, 
Heard  the  song-birds  carolling  ; 
Of  his  love  he  thought  anew, 
Nicolette  the  maiden  true, 
Whom  he  loved  so  long  a  day  ; 
Then  his  tears  and  sighs  had  way. 
When,  behold  before  the  stair, 
Nicolette  herself  stood  there, 
Lifted  viol,  lifted  bow, 
Then  she  told  her  story  so  : 
"  Listen,  lordlings  brave,  to  me, 
Ye  that  low  or  lofty  be  ! 
Liketh  you  to  hear  a  stave, 
All  of  Aucassin  the  brave, 
And  of  Nicolette  the  true  ? 
Long  they  loved  and  long  did  rue, 
Till  into  the  deep  forest 
After  her  he  went  in  quest. 
From  the  tower  of  Torelore 
Them  one  day  the  Paynim  bore, 
And  of  him  I  know  no  more. 
But  true-hearted  Nicolette 
Is  in  Carthage  castle  yet ; 
To  her  sire  so  dear  is  she, 
Who  is  king  of  that  countrie. 
Fain  they  would  to  her  award 
Felon  king  to  be  her  lord. 
Nicolette  will  no  Paynim, 
For  she  loves  a  lording  slim, 
Aucassin  the  name  of  him. 
By  the  holy  name  she  vows 
That  no  lord  will  she  espouse, 
Save  she  have  her  love  once  moe 
She  longs  for  so ! " 

She  is  at  last  revealed  to  him,  and  all  ends  happily. 

Sec.  Jfl. — Now  when  Aucassin  did  hear 
Of  his  own  bright  favored  fere, 
That  she  had  arrived  his  shore, 
Glad  he  was  as  ne'er  before. 


48  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Forth  with  that  fair  dame  he  made 
Nor  until  the  hostel  stayed. 
Quickly  to  the  room  they  win, 
Where  sat  Nicolette  within. 
When  she  saw  her  love  once  more, 
Glad  she  was  as  ne'er  before. 
Up  she  sprang  upon  her  feet, 
And  went  forward  him  to  meet. 
Soon  as  Aucassin  beheld, 
Both  his  arms  to  her  he  held, 
Gently  took  her  to  his  breast, 
All  her  face  and  eyes  caressed. 
Long  they  lingered  side  by  side ; 
And  the  next  day  by  noontide 
Aucassin  her  lord  became ; 
Of  Beaucaire  he  made  her  Dame. 
After  lived  they  many  days, 
And  in  pleasure  went  their  ways. 
Now  has  Aucassin  his  bliss, 
Likewise  Nicolette  ywis. 
Ends  our  song  and  story  so ; 
No  more  I  know. 


DIDACTIC  LITERATURE. 

France  produced,  along  with  its  heroic  poetry,  its  romances, 
tales,  and  lyrics,  much  serious  and  allegorical  work.  This  was 
in  the  shape  of  homilies,  didatic  poems,  and  long  allegories 
touching  manners  and  morals.  Of  these  last  the  most  famous 
and  important  is  The  Romance  of  the  Rose.  It  was  the  most 
popular  book  of  the  Middle  Ages  in  France.  It  was  begun  by 
William  of  Lorris  about  1240,  the  first  draft  extending  to  4670 
lines.  Some  forty  years  later,  Jean  de  Meung,  or  Clapinel, 
wrote  a  continuation  extending  the  poem  to  22,817  lines.  The 
general  story  is  of  a  visit  to  a  garden  of  delights,  on  the  out- 
side of  which  are  all  unlovely  things.  Within  the  garden  the 
personages  and  action  are  allegories  of  the  art  of  love.  Here 
are  Leisure,  Enjoyment,  Courtesy,  the  God  of  Love  himself, 
love  in  the  form  of  a  beautiful  Bose,  Gracious  Reception, 


FRENCH  LITERA  TURE.  49 

Guardianship,  Coyness,  and  Reason.  Our  extracts  are  taken 
from  the  translation  into  English  attributed — it  now  seems 
with  great  probability — to  Chaucer. 

NOTE.— These  extracts  from  Chaucer's  translation  are  not  re-translated 
nor  adapted.  Chaucer's  words  are  retained  in  every  case.  Their  spelling 
is  modernized.  In  those  cases  in  which  they  are  needed  for  the  rhythm, 
certain  inflectional  endings,  e,  en,  es,  are  retained  and  are  printed  in 
parentheses.  The  reader  has  only  to  remember  that  he  must  pronounce 
every  syllable  needed  to  make  the  lines  rhythmical.  In  only  four  cases 
has  the  rhyme  been  affected  by  the  changed  spelling.  For  defense  of  this 
modern  spelling  of  Chaucer,  the  reader  is  referred  to  Lounsbury's  "  Studies 
in  Chaucer,"  Vol.  III.,  pp.  264-279. 

LI.  49-91.— That  it  was  May  me  thought(e)  tho J 
It  is  five  year  or  more  ago ; 
That  it  was  May,  thus  dreamed  me, 
In  time  of  love  and  jollity. 
That  all  thing  'ginneth  waxen  gay, 
For  there  is  neither  husk  nor  hay  * 
In  May,  that  it  nill 8  shrouded  been 
And  *  it  with  new(e)  leaves  wrene 6 
These  wood(e)s  eek  recover  green, 
That  dry  in  winter  been  to  seen  ;  • 
And  the  earth  waxeth  proud  withal 
For  sweet  dews  that  on  it  fall. 
And  the  poor  estate  forget 
In  which  that  winter  had  it  set. 
And  then  becometh  the  ground  so  proud, 
That  it  will  have  a  new(e)  shroud, 
And  maketh  so  quaint  his  robe  and  fair 
That  it  had  hews  an  hundred  pair, 
Of  grass  and  flowers,  inde  and  perse 7 
And  many  hew(e)s  full  diverse : 
That  is  the  robe,  I  mean,  ivis,8 
Through  which  the  ground  to  praise(n)  *  is. 
The  birds  that  have(n)  left  their  song, 
While  they  have  suffered  cold  so  strong, 
In  weathers  grill 10  and  dark  to  sight, 
Ben  "  in  May  for 12  the  sun(en)  bright 
So  glad(e),  that  they  show  in  singing 
That  in  (t)heir  hearts  is  such  liking,13 
That  they  mote  M  sing(en)  and  be  light. 
Then  doth  the  nightingale  her  might 

i  Then.  2  Bush  nor  hedge.  »  Will  not.  <  As  if.  e  Were  covered. 
«  Are  to  be  seen.  :  Azure  and  sky-colored,  t  Certainly.  »  To  be  praised. 
10  Severe.  11  Are.  12  On  account  of.  13  Good  bodily  condition,  i*  Must. 


50  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

To  make  noise  and  sing(en)  blithe, 
Then  is  blissful  many  sithe.i 
The  calandra2  and  the  popinjay.3 
Then  young(e)  folk  entend(en)  «  aye 
For  to  be  gay  and  amorous, 
The  time  is  then  so  favorous.8 

Hard  is  the  heart  that  loveth  nought, 
In  May  when  all  this  mirth  is  wrought : 
When  he  may  on  these  branches  hear 
The  small(e)  bird(e)s  sing(en)  clear 
(T)heir  blissful,  sweet  song  piteous, 
And  in  this  season  delightous* 
When  love  affrayeth 7  all(e)  thing. 

The  poet  sees  in  vision  the  Garden  of  Love.    He  knocks  at "  a  wi  ket  smalle," 
which  was  finally  opened  by  a  maiden. 

LI.  539. — Her  hair  was  as  yellow  of  hew 
As  any  basin  scoured  new, 
Her  flesh  tender  as  is  a  chick, 
With  bent  brow(e)s,  smooth  and  sleek  ; 
And  by  measure  large  were, 
The  opening  of  her  eyen8  clere, 
Her  nose  of  good  proportion, 
Her  eyen 8  gray  as  is  a  falcon, 
With  sweet(e)  breath  and  well  savored, 
Her  face  white  and  well  colored, 
With  little  mouth  and  round  to  see  ; 
A  clove9  chin  eek  had(de)  she. 
Her  neck(e)  was  of  good  fashion10 
In  length  and  greatness  by  reason,11 
Without(e)  blain(e),12  scab  or  roigne.18 
From  Jerusalem  unto  Burgoyne, 
There  nys14  a  fairer  neck,  iwis,15 
To  feel  how  smooth  and  soft  it  is. 
Her  throat  also  white  of  hew 
As  snow  on  branch(e)  snowed  new. 
Of  body  full  well  wrought  was  she ; 
Men  needed  not  in  no  country 
A  fairer  body  for  to  seek, 
And  of  fine  orphreys16  had  she  eek 
A  chap(e)let ;  so  seemly  one, 

i  Times.  2  A  kind  of  lark.  s  Parrot.  <  Attend.  «  Favorable. 
•  Delightful.  J  Moveth.  sEyes.  e  Dimpled.  wForm.  n  Proportion 
isPustule.  ispimple.  u  Is  not.  "Certainly.  ie  Fringe  of  gold. 


FRENCH  LITERATURE.  51 

Ne  i  werede 2  never  maid  upon, 
And  fair  above  that  chap(e)let 
A  rose  garland  had  she  set. 
She  had  a  gay  mirror, 
And  with  a  rioh(e)  gold  treasure 
Her  head  was  tressed 3  quaint(e)ly  ; 
Her  sleeves  sewed  fetisely,4 
And  for  to  keep  her  hand(e)s  fair 
Of  gloves  white  she  had  a  pair. 
And  she  had  on  a  coat  of  green, 
Of  cloth  of  Gaunt ;  without(e)  ween5 
Well  seemed  by  her  apparel 
She  was  not  wont  to  great  travail, 
For  when  she  kempt8  was  fetisely4 
And  well  arrayed  and  rich(e)ly 
Then  had  she  done  all  her  journey  ; " 
For  merry  and  well  begun8  was  she. 
She  had  a  lusty9  life  in  May, 
She  had  no  thought  by  night  nor  day, 
Of  no  thing  but  if  it  were  only 
To  graith10  her  well  and  uncouthly." 
When  that  this  door  had  opened  me 
This  May,  seemly  for  to  see, 
I  thanked  her  as  I  best  might, 
And  asked  her  how  th"t  she  hight 12 
And  what  she  was,  I  asked  eek. 
And  she  to  me  was  nour  .t  unmeek l3 
Xe  of  her  answer  dangerous14 
But  fair  answered  and  said(e)  thus : 
"  Lo,  sir,  my  name  is  Idleness ; 
So  clepe15  men  me,  more  and  less.18 
Full  mighty  and  full  rich  am  I, 
And  that  of  one  thing,  namely,17 
For  I  entend(e) 18  to  no  thing 
But  to  my  joy,  and  my  playing, 
And  for  to  kemb 19  and  tress(e)  *°  me. 
Acquainted  am  I  and  privy 
With  Mirth(e),  lord  of  this  garden, 
That  from  the  land  of  Alexander 
Made  the  trees  hither  be  fet 21 

i  Not.  2  Wore.  s  Plaited.  4  Neatly.  *  Doubt.  « Combed,  ironed. 
T  Day's  work,  sin  fine  form.  9 Pleasant.  10 Dress.  «  Unusually, ele- 
gantly. 12  Was  called.  is  Bold.  H  Sparing.  is  Name.  is  Great  and 
small.  i;  Chiefly.  is  Attend.  is  Comb.  so  Plait.  21  Fetched. 


52  SOXG  AND  LEGBND. 

That  in  this  garden  be  i-set. 

And  when  the  trees  were  waxen  on  height ' 

This  wall,  that  stands  here  in  thy  sight, 

Did  Mirth  enclose(n)  all  about; 

And  these  images*  all  without 

He  did  'em  both  entail 3  and  paint. 

That  neither  be  jolyf 4  nor  quaint,5 

But  they  be  full  of  sorrow  and  woe 

As  thou  hast  seen  a  while  ago. 

"  And  oft(e)  time  him  to  solace, 
Sir  Mirth(e)  cometh  into  this  place 
And  eek  with  him  cometh  his  meiny a 
That  live  in  lust7  and  jollity, 
And  now  is  Mirth  therein  to  hear 
The  bird(e)s,  how  they  sing(en)  clear 
The  mavis  and  the  nightingale, 
And  other  jolly  bird(e)s  small, 
And  thus  he  walketh  to  solace 
Him  and  his  folk ;  for  sweeter  place 
To  play(en)  in  he  may  not  find, 
Although  he  sought  one  in  till 8  Inde.9 
The  alther  fairest10  folk  to  see 
That  in  this  world  may  found(e)  be 
Hath  Mirth(e)  with  him  in  his  rout, 
That  follow  him  always  about. 

And  forth  without(e)  word(e)s  mo,11 
In  at  that  wicket  went  I  tho,18 
That  idleness  had  opened  me, 
Into  that  garden  fair  to  see. 

After  wandering  about  the  garden  hearing  the  birds  and  getting  ac- 
quainted with  the  inhabitants,  he  saw 

Among  a  thousand  thing(e)s  mo 1S 
A  roser  u  charged  full  of  roses, 
That  with  an  hedge  about  enclosed  is. 
Tho 1S  had  I  such  lust 16  and  envy, 
That  for  Paris  nor  for  Pavie, 
Nolde 1T I  have  left  to  go  at  see 
There  greatest  heap  of  roses  be. 

i  Were  grown  to  a  height.  s  The  pictures  on  the  outside  of  the  wall. 

»  Carve.  •*  Joyful,  pleasant,  s  Unusual,  queer.  «  Retinue.  T  Pleasure. 
»  To.  9  India.  10  Fairest  of  all.  11  More.  i*  Then.  13  More. 
14  Rose-bush.  «  Then.  ia  Desire.  IT  Would  not. 


FRENCH  LIT  ERA  TURE.  63 

When  I  was  with  this  rage  hent J 
That  caught  hath  many  a  man  and  shent,* 
Toward  the  roser  I  gan  go. 
And  when  I  was  not  far  therefro, 8 
The  savor  of  the  roses  sweet 
Me  smote  right  to  the  heart(e)  root 
As  I  had  all  embalmed  be. 
And  if  I  had  ne 4  endoubted 5  me 
To  have  been  hated  or  assailed, 
Me  thank(e)s,6  would  I  not  been  failed 
To  pull  a  rose  of  all  that  rout,7 
To  bear(en)  in  my  hand  about 
And  smell(en)  to  it  where  I  went ; 
But  ever  I  dreaded  me  to  repent, 
And  lest  it  grieved  or  forthought 8 
The  lord  that  thilke 9  garden  wrought, 
Of  roses  there  were  great(e)  wone,10 
So  fair(e)  waxe  n  never  in  Rone.12 

Of  knop(e)s 13  close,14  some  saw  I  there 
And  some  well  better  waxen 15  were, 
And  some  there  be  of  other  moison  w 
That  drew(e)  nigh  to  their  season, 
And  sped  'em  fast(e)  for  to  spread ; 
I  love  well  such  roses  red ; 
For  broad  "  roses,  and  open  also, 
Be  passed  in  a  day  or  two ; 
But  knop(e)s 13  will(e)  fresh(e)  be 
Two  day(e)s  at  the  least,  or  three, 
The  knop(e)s  greatly  liked18  me, 
For  fairer  may  there  no  man  see 
Whoso  might  have  one  of  all 
It  aught  him  be  full  lief19  withall. 
Might  I  one  garland  of  'em  get 
For  no  riches  I  would  it  let.20 
Among  the  knop(e)s  I  chose  one 
So  fair,  that  of  the  remnant  none 
Ne  prize  I  half  so  well  as  it, 
When  I  avise 21  it  is  my  wit. 
In  it  so  well  was  enlumined 
With  color  red,  as  well  y-fined22 

i  Seized.  2  Ruined.  s  There  from.  4  Not.  5  Feared.  « Willingly. 
t  Company.  » Caused  to  repent.  »  That.  10  Quantity.  »  Waxed,  grew. 
12  Provence.  is  Buds.  1*  Closed.  is  Much  better  grown.  10  Harvest. 
"Blown,  is  Pleased,  is  Pleasing.  20  Let  go.  21  Consider.  22  Polished. 


54  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

As  nature  couthe l  it  make  fair. 

And  it  had  leaves  well  four  pair, 

That  Kynde 2  hath  set  through  his  knowing 

About  the  red  roses  springing. 

The  stalk(e)  was  as  rush(e)  right 

And  thereon  stood  the  knop  upright, 

That  it  ne  bowed  upon  no  side, 

The  sweet(e)  smell(e)  sprang  so  wide 

That  it  did 3  all  the  place  about. 

When  I  had  smelled  the  savor  sweet 

No  will  had  I  from  thence  yet  go 

But  somedeal 4  nearer  it  went  I  tho 5 

To  take  it :  but  mine  hand  for  dread 

Ne  durst  I  to  the  rose  bede " 

For  thistles  sharp  of  many  manners, 

Nettles,  thornes,  and  hooked  briers ; 

For  mickle  they  disturbed  me, 

For  sore  I  dreaded  to  harmed  be. 

i  Knew  how.        2  Nature.       3  Filled.        <  Somewhat.       6  Then.       « Offer. 


CHAPTEE  H. 
SPANISH  LITERATURE. 

THE  golden  age  of  Spanish  literature  embraces  the  sixteenth 
and  seventeenth  centuries ;  but  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth 
centuries  were,  in  Spain  as  in  other  European  countries,  a 
period  of  special  literary  activity.  The  impulses  at  work 
were  the  same  as  those  to  be  noted  in  contemporary  France, 
England,  and  Germany,  and  the  work  produced  of  the  same 
general  types.  The  chief  phases  of  Spanish  mediaeval  liter- 
ature are  these : 

1.  Epic  and  heroic  poetry. 

Here,  as  elsewhere,  heroic  ballads  grew  up  about  the  na- 
tional heroes.  These  were  gradually  fused  into  long  epic 
poems  by  the  wandering  minstrels.  The  best  of  these 
Chansons  de  Oeste  are  (1)  The  Poem  of  the  Cid,  (2)  Rhymed 
Chronicle  of  the  Cid.  Both  of  them  belong  probably  to  the 
twelfth  century. 

2.  Eomances. 

Many  romances,  or  short  semi-epic  poems,  grew  up  about 
the  Cid.  Of  others,  some  were  of  the  Carlovingian  cycle,  the 
most  famous  being  that  concerning  Bernardo  del  Carpio,  the 
traditional  rival  and  conqueror  of  Roland.  Some  were  de- 
voted to  the  Arthurian  legend.  This  latter  cycle  of  stories  was 
immensely  popular  in  Spain,  though  rather  in  translation  and 
imitation  than  in  original  works.  In  the  fourteenth  century 
these  older  romances  were  technically  called  "books  of 

55 


56  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

chivalry  "  and  their  popularity  and  influence  was  widespread. 

3.  Lyric  poetry. 

There  seems  to  have  been  no  special  development  of  lyric 
poetry  early  in  Spain,  such  as  is  found  in  France.  The 
earliest  noteworthy  lyric  poet  is  Juan  Ruiz  (1300-1350). 

4.  Didactic  literature. 

As  early  as  the  first  half  of  the  thirteenth  century,  we  have 
in  Spain  a  strong  didactic  literature.  Gonzalo  de  Berceo  (d. 
1268)  wrote  many  lives  of  the  saints,  miracles,  hymns  to  the 
Virgin,  and  other  devotional  pieces.  But  the  impulse  to  alle- 
gorizing does  not  seem  to  come  to  Spain  till  much  later. 

5.  Fables  and  tales. 

Though  a  little  later  in  being  developed  in  Spain  than  In 
France,  the  same  delight  was  taken  in  fables  and  short 
tales.  About  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century,  Juan 
Manul  (d.  1349)  made,  in  his  El  Conde  Lucanor,  a  large  collec- 
tion of  these  tales. 

6.  Chronicles. 

Spain  had  early  an  excellent  school  of  chroniclers.  An  ex- 
ample of  their  work  is  The  General  Chronicle  of  Spain, 
compiled  under  Alphonso  the  Wise  (d.  1284). 

ANCIENT  BALLADS. 

Romantic  ballads  grew  up  in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth 
centuries  in  Spain,  centering  chiefly  about  the  national  hero, 
Rodrigo  Diaz  de  Bivar,  who  was  called  THE  CID,  some  account 
of  whom  is  necessary  in  order  to  an  understanding  of  the 
poems. 

History.— Rodrigo  Diaz  de  Bivar,  born  1030-40,  died  1099,  was 
the  foremost  warrior  of  the  great  struggle  between  the  Chris- 
tians and  the  Moors  in  Spain.  The  Moors  called  him  the  CID 
(Seidt  the  Lord),  and  the  Champion  (El  Campeador).  He  was 
a  vigorous,  unscrupulous  fighter,  now  on  one  side,  now  on  the 


SPA  NISH  LITER  A  T  URE.  57 

other.  He  was  at  one  time  entrusted  with  high  embassies 
of  state,  at  others,  a  rebel.  His  true  place  in  history  seems 
to  be  that  of  a  great  freebooter  and  guerrilla.  His  contempo- 
rary fame  was  really  great. 

Legend. — During  the  lifetime  of  the  CID  many  marvels  and 
myths  grew  up  about  him,  and  within  the  next  century 
they  became  almost  numberless.  He  became  the  hero  of  poet 
and  of  romancer  to  the  Spanish  people.  His  story  was  told 
everywhere  by  the  wandering  minstrels,  and  his  name  became 
the  center  of  all  popular  romances. 

Literature. — At  once,  then,  a  large  literature  sprang  up 
concerning  the  CID — ballads,  romances,  and  incipient  dramas. 
The  chief  pieces  are  (1)  The  Ballads  of  the  Cid,  composed  from 
the  twelfth  to  the  fifteenth  century,  of  which  nearly  two  hun- 
dred survive  ;  (2)  The  Poem  of  the  did,  a  noble  fragment ;  (3) 
The  Chronicle  of  the  did. 

The  early  history  of  Spain's  popular  hero  is  traced  very 
accurately  in  (1)  The  General  Chronicle  of  Spain,  compiled 
under  Alphonso  X.  (died  1284)  ;  (2)  The  Chronicle  of  the  Cid, 
perhaps  extracts  from  the  first,  and  (3)  Various  Poems  and 
Romances  of  the  CID  from  the  thirteenth  to  the  fifteenth 
century. 

The  following  give  some  of  his  adventures,  and  show  the 
spirit  of  this  interesting  early  literature — the  earliest  ballad 
literature  in  Europe. 

From  the  Cid  Ballads. 

CUYDANDO  DIEGO  LAYNEZ. 

(THE  TEST.) 

Brooding  sat  Diego  Laynez  o'er  the  insult  to  his  name, 

Nobler  and  more  ancient  far  than  Ifligo  Abarca's  fame  ; 

For  he  felt  that  strength  was  wanting  to  avenge  the   craven 

blow, 

If  he  himself  at  such  an  age  to  fight  should  think  to  go. 
Sleepless  he  passed  the  weary  nights,  his  food  untasted  lay, 


58  SOXG  AND  LEGEND. 

Ne'er  raised  his  eyes  from  off  the  ground,  nor  ventured  forth  to 

stray, 

Refused  all  converse  with  his  friends,  impelled  by  mortal  fear, 
Lest  fame  of  outrage  unatoned  should  aggravate  his  care. 
While  pondering  thus  his  honor's  claims  in  search  of  just  re- 
dress, 

He  thought  of  an  expedient  his  failing  house  to  test ; 
So  summoning  to  his  side  his  sons,  excused  all  explanation, 
Silent  began  to  clutch  their  hands  in  proper  alternation, 
(Not  by  their  tender  palms  to  trace  the  chiromantic  linings, 
For  at  that  day  no  place  was  found  in  Spain  for  such  divinings), 
But  calling  on  his  honor  spent  for  strength  and  self-denial, 
He  set  aside  parental  love  and  steeled  his  nerves  to  trial, 
Griping  their  hands  with  all  his  might  till  each  cried :    "  Hold, 

sir,  hold ! 

What  meaneth  this?  pray,  let  me  go;  thou  'rt  killing  me,  be- 
hold!" 

Now  when  he  came  to  Roderick,  the  youngest  of  them  all, 
Despair  had  well-nigh  banished  hope  of  cherished  fruit  withal 
(Though  ofttimes  lingering  nearest  when  farthest  thought  to  be); 
The  young  man's  eyes  flashed  fury,  like  tiger  fierce  stood  he 
And  cried :  "  Hold,  father,  hold,  a  curse  upon  ye,  stay ! 
An  ye  were  not  my  father,  I  would  not  stop  to  pray, 
But  by  this  good  right  arm  of  mine  would  straight  pluck  out 

your  life 
With  a  bare  digit  of  my  hand,  in  lieu  of  vulgar  knife ! " 

The  old  man  wept  for  joy :  "  Son  of  my  soul,"  quoth  he, 
"  Thy  rage  my  rage  disarrneth,  thine  ire  is  good  to  see ; 
Prove  now  thy  mettle,  Rod'rick ;  wipe  out  my  grievous  stain, 
Restore  the  honor  I  have  lost,  unless  thou  it  regain — " 
Then  quickly  told  him  of  the  wrong  to  which  he  was  a  prey, 
Gave  him  his  blessing  and  a  sword  and  bade  him  go  his  way 
To  end  the  Count's  existence  and  begin  a  brighter  day. 

—Tr.  by  KNAPP. 

PENSATIVO  ESTAVA  EL  CID. 

(THE  SOLILOQUY.) 

Pensive  stood  the  young  Castilian,  musing  calmly  on  his  plight ; 
'Gainst  a  man  like  Count  Lozano  to  avenge  a  father's  slight ! 
Thought  of  all  the  trained  dependents  that  his  foe  could  quickly 

call, 

A  thousand  brave  Asturians  scattered  through  the  highlands  all ; 
Thought,  too,  how  at  the  Cortes  of  Leon  his  voice  prevailed, 


SPANISH  LITERA  TURE.  59 

And  how  in  border  forays  the  Moor  before  him  quailed ; 

At  last  reviewed  the  grievance— No  sacrifice  too  great 

To  vindicate  the  first  affront  to  Layn  Calvo's  state ; 

Then  calls  on  Heaven  for  justice,  and  on  the  earth  for  space, 

Craves  strength  of  honor  injured,  and  of  his  father  grace, 

Nor  heeds  his  youthful  bearing,  for  men  of  rank  like  he 

Are  wont  from  birth  to  prove  their  worth  by  deeds  of  chivalry. 

Next,  from  the  wainscot  took  he  down  an  ancient  sword  and  long : 
Once  it  had  been  Mudarra's,  but  now  had  rusty  grown, 
And,  holding  it  sufficient  to  achieve  the  end  he  sought, 
Before  he  girt  it  on  him,  he  addressed  the  fitting  thought : 
"  Consider,  valiant  claymore,  that  Mudarra's  arm  is  mine, 
And  the  cause  wherein  ye  wrestle  is  Mudarra's  cause  and  thine  ; 
But  if,  forsooth,  thou  scornest  to  be  grasped  by  youthful  hand, 
Think  not  'twill  lead  thee  backward  e'en  a  jot  from  the  demand ; 
For  as  firm  as  thine  own  steel  thou  wilt  find  me  in  the  fray, 
And  as  good  as  e'er  the  best  man — Thou  hast  gained  a  lord  to-day ; 
And  if  perchance  they  worst  thee,  enraged  at  such  a  stain, 
I  shall  plunge  thee  to  the  cross  in  my  breast  for  very  shame. 
Then  on  to  the  field  away,  for  the  hour  to  fight  is  come, 
To  requite  on  Count  Lozano  all  the  mischief  he  has  done." 
So,  full  of  courage  and  emprise  the  Cid  rode  forth  to  war, 
And  his  triumph  was  accomplished  in  the  space  of  one  short  hour. 

—2V.  by  KNAPP. 

NON  ES  DE  SESSUDOS  HOMES. 

(ON  THE  FIELD). 

"  It  is  not  meet  for  men  of  brain,  nor  yet  for  champion  true, 
To  offer  insult  to  a  man  of  better  blood  than  you ! 
The  brawny  warrior,  howe'er  fierce  and  valiant  he  may  be, 
Was  never  wont  to  test  his  power  on  aged  infirmity. 
The  men  of  Leon  need  not  boast  of  high  emprise,  forsooth, 
Who  craven  smite  the  face  of  age,  and  not  the  breast  of  youth. 
Ye  should  have  known  who  was  my  sire,  and  Layn  Calvo's  line, 
A  breed  that  never  brook  offence,  nor  challenge  fit  decline  ; 
How  dared  ye  thus  provoke  a  man  whom  only  Heaven  may, 
And  not  another,  while  the  son  lives  to  avenge  the  day ! 
Ye  cast  about  his  noble  face  dishonor's  sombre  pall, 
But  I  am  here  to  strip  it  off  and  expiate  it  all ; 
For  only  blood  will  cleanse  the  stain  attainted  honor  brings, 
And  valid  blood  is  that  alone  which  from  the  aggressor  springs ; 
Yours  it  must  be,  Oh  tyrant,  since  by  its  overplay 
It  moved  ye  to  so  foul  a  deed  and  robbed  your  sense  away  ; 


60  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

On  my  father  ye  laid  hand,  in  the  presence  of  the  king, 
And  I,  his  son,  am  here  to-day  atonement  full  to  bring. 
Count,  ye  did  a  craven  business  and  I  call  ye  COWARD  here  ! 
Behold,  if  I  await  you,  think  not  I  come  with  fear, 
For  Diego  Laynez  wrought  me  well  set  in  his  own  mould, 
And  while  I  prove  my  birthright  I  your  baseness  shall  unfold. 
Your  valor  as  a  crafty  blade  will  not  avail  ye  more, 
For  to  my  needs  I  bring  a  sword  and  charger  trained  to  war." 
Thus  spake  to  Count  Lozano  Spain's  champion,  the  Cid, 
(Ere  long  he  won  the  title  by  achievements  which  he  did) ; 
That  day  he  slew  his  enemy  and  severing  quick  the  head, 
Bore  high  the  bleeding  trophy  as  he  homeward  proudly  sped. 

—  TV.  by  KNAP  P. 

LLORANDO  DIEGO  LAYNEZ. 

(THE  TRIUMPH.) 

Weeping  sat  Diego  Laynez  still  o'er  his  untasted  meal ; 
Still  o'er  his  shame  was  brooding,  the  tears  his  thoughts  reveal ; 
Beset  with  a  thousand  fancies,  and  crazed  with  honest  care, 
Sensitive  to  a  footfall  lest  some  foe  were  lurking  there, 
When  Rod'rick,  bearing  by  the  locks  the  Count's  dissevered  poll, 
Tracking  the  floor  with  recent  gore,  advanced  along  the  hall. 
He  touched  his  father's  shoulder  and  roused  him  from  his  dream, 
And  proudly  flaunting  his  revenge  he  thus  addresses  him : 

"  Behold  the  evil  tares,  sir,  that  ye  may  taste  the  wheat ; 
Open  thine  eyes,  my  father,  and  lift  thy  head,  'tis  meet, 
For  this  thine  honor  is  secure,  is  raised  to  life  once  more, 
And  all  the  stain  is  washed  away  in  spite  of  pride  and  power : 
For  here  are  hands  that  are  not  hands,  this  tongue  no  tongue  is  now, 
I  have  avenged  thee,  sir,  behold,  and  here  the  truth  avow." 
The  old  man  thinks  he  dreams ;  but  no,  no  dream  is  there  ; 
'Twas  only  his  long  grieving  that  had  filled  his  heart  with  care. 
At  length  he  lifts  his  eyes,  spent  by  chivalrous  deeds, 
And  turns  them  on  his  enemy  clad  in  the  ghastly  weeds : 

"  Roderick,  son  of  my  soul,  mantle  the  spectre  anon, 
Lest,  like  a  new  Medusa,  it  change  my  heart  to  stone, 
And  leave  me  in  such  plight  at  last,  that,  ere  I  wish  ye  joy, 
My  heart  should  rend  within  me  of  bliss  without  alloy. 
Oh,  infamous  Lozano !  kind  heaven  hath  wrought  redress, 
And  the  great  justice  of  my  claim  hath  fired  Rodrigo's  breast ! 
Sit  down,  my  son,  and  dine,  here  at  the  head  with  me, 
For  he  who  bringest  such  a  gift,  is  head  of  my  family." 

—TV  by  KNAPP. 


SPANISH  LITERATURE.  61 

THE  YOUNG  CID. 

Now  rides  Diego  Laynez,  to  kiss  the  good  King's  hand, 
Three  hundred  men  of  gentry  go  with  him  from  his  land, 
Among  them,  young  Rodrigo,  the  proud  Knight  of  Bivar ; 
The  rest  on  mules  are  mounted,  he  on  his  horse  of  war. 

They  ride  in  glittering  gowns  of  soye— He  harnessed  like  a  lord ; 
There  is  no  gold  about  the  boy,  but  the  crosslet  of  his  sword ; 
The  rest  have  gloves  of  sweet  perfume,— He  gauntlets  strong  of 

mail; 
They  broidered  cap  and  flaunting  plume,— He  crest  untaught  to 

quail. 

All  talking  with  each  other  thus  along  their  way  they  passed, 
But  now  they'  ve  come  to  Burgos,  and  met  the  King  at  last ; 
When  they  came  near  his  nobles,  a  whisper  through  them  ran, — 
"  He  rides  amidst  the  gentry  that  slew  the  Count  Lozan." 

With  very  haughty  gesture  Rodrigo  reined  his  horse, 
Right  scornfully  he  shouted,  when  he  heard  them  so  discourse, — 
"  If  any  of  his  kinsmen  or  vassals  dare  appear, 
The  man  to  give  them  answer,  on  horse  or  foot,  is  here." — 

"  The  devil  ask  the  question !  "  thus  muttered  all  the  band ; — 
With  that  they  all  alighted,  to  kiss  the  good  King's  hand,— 
All  but  the  proud  Rodrigo,  he  in  his  saddle  stayed, — 
Then  turned  to  him  his  father  (you  may  hear  the  words  he  said). 

"  Now,  light,  my  son,  I  pray  thee,  and  kiss  the  good  King's  hand, 
He  is  our  lord,  Rodrigo ;  we  hold  of  him  our  land."— 
But  when  Rodrigo  heard  him,  he  looked  in  sulky  sort, — 
I  wot  the  words  he  answered  they  were  both  cold  and  short. 

"  Had  any  other  said  it,  his  pains  had  well  been  paid, 
But  thou,  sir,  art  my  father,  thy  word  must  be  obeyed." — 
With  that  he  sprung  down  lightly,  before  the  King  to  kneel, 
But  as  the  knee  was  bending,  out  leapt  his  blade  of  steel. 

The  King  drew  back  in  terror,  when  he  saw  the  sword  was  bare ; 
"  Stand  back,  stand  back,  Rodrigo,  in  the  devil's  name  beware ; 
Your  looks  bespeak  a  creature  of  father  Adam's  mould, 
But  in  your  wild  behaviour  you're  like  some  lion  bold." 

When  Rodrigo  heard  him  say  so,  he  leapt  into  his  seat, 
And  thence  he  made  his  answer,  with  visage  nothing  sweet, — 
"  I'd  think  it  little  honour  to  kiss  a  kingly  palm, 
And  if  my  fathers  kissed  it,  thereof  ashamed  I  am." — 


02  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

When  he  these  words  had  uttered,  he  turned  him  from  the  gate. 
His  true  three  hundred  gentles  behind  him  followed  straight ; 
If  with  good  gowns  they  came  that  day,  with  better  arms  they 

went; 

And  if  their  mules  behind  did  stay,  with  horses  they're  content. 

— 2V.  by  LOCKHART. 

THE  CID'S  COURTSHIP. 

Now,  of  Kodrigo  de  Bivar  great  was  the  fame  that  run, 
How  he  five  Kings  had  vanquished,  proud  Moormen  every  one  ; 
And  how,  when  they  consented  to  hold  of  him  their  ground, 
He  freed  them  from  the  prison  wherein  they  had  been  bound. 

To  the  good  King  Fernando,  in  Burgos  where  he  lay, 
Came  then  Ximena  Gomez,  and  thus  to  him  did  say  :— 
"  I  am  Don  Gomez'  daughter,  in  Gormaz  Count  was  he ; 
Him  slew  Rodrigo  of  Bivar  in  battle  valiantly. 

"  Now  am  I  come  before  you,  this  day  a  boon  to  crave, 
And  it  is  that  I  to  husband  may  this  Rodrigo  have ; 
Grant  this,  and  I  shall  hold  me  a  happy  damosell, 
Much  honoured  shall  I  hold  me,  I  shall  be  married  well. 

"  I  know  he's  born  for  thriving,  none  like  him  in  the  land ; 
I  know  that  none  in  battle  against  his  spear  may  stand ; 
Forgiveness  is  well  pleasing  in  God  our  Saviour's  view, 
And  I  forgive  him  freely,  for  that  my  sire  he  slew." — 

Right  pleasing  to  Fernando  was  the  thing  she  did  propose ; 
He  writes  his  letter  swiftly,  and  forth  his  foot-page  goes  ; 
I  wot,  when  young  Rodrigo  saw  how  the  King  did  write, 
He  leapt  on  Bavieca— I  wot  his  leap  was  light. 

With  his  own  troop  of  true  men  forthwith  he  took  the  way, 
Three  hundred  friends  and  kinsmen,  all  gently  born  were  they ; 
All  in  one  colour  mantled,  in  armour  gleaming  gay, 
New  were  both  scarf  and  scabbard,  when  they  went  forth  that 
day. 

The  King  came  out  to  meet  him.  with  words  of  hearty  cheer ; 
Quoth  he,  "  My  good  Rodrigo,  you  are  right  welcome  here ; 
This  girl  Ximena  Gomez  would  have  ye  for  her  lord, 
Already  for  the  slaughter  her  grace  she  doth  accord. 

"  I  pray  you  be  consenting,  my  gladness  will  be  great ; 
You  shall  have  lands  in  plenty,  to  strengthen  your  estate." 


SPANISH  LITERATURE.  63 

"  Lord  King,"  Rodrigo  answers,  "  in  this  and  all  beside, 
Command,  and  I'll  obey  you.    The  girl  shall  be  my  bride." — 

But  when  the  fair  Ximena  came  forth  to  plight  her  hand, 
Rodrigo,  gazing  on  her,  his  face  could  not  command : 
He  stood  and  blushed  before  her ;  —  thus  at  the  last  said  he  — 
"  I  slew  thy  sire,  Ximena,  but  not  in  villany : — 

"  In  no  disguise  I  slew  him,  man  against  man  I  stood  ; 
There  was  some  wrong  between  us,1  and  I  did  shed  his  blood. 
I  slew  a  man,  I  owe  a  man  ;  fair  lady,  by  God's  grace, 
An  honoured  husband  thou  shalt  have  in  thy  dead  father's  place." 

— Tr.  by  LOCK  HART. 

BAVIECA. 

The  favorite  warrior  horse  of  the  Cid.    There  are  several  more  ballads  de- 
voted to  this  charger. 

The  King  looked  on  him  kindly,  as  on  a  vassal  true  ; 
Then  to  the  King  Ruy  Diaz  spake  after  reverence  due, — 
"  O  King,  the  thing  is  shameful,  that  any  man  beside 
The  liege  lord  of  Castile  himself  should  Bavieca  ride : 

"  For  neither  Spain  or  Araby  could  another  charger  bring 
So  good  as  he,  and  certes,  the  best  befits  my  King. 
But  that  you  may  behold  him,  and  know  him  to  the  core, 
I'll  make  him  go  as  he  was  wont  when  his  nostrils  smelt  the 
Moor." 

With  that,  the  Cid,  clad  as  he  was  in  mantle  furred  and  wide, 
On  Bavieca  vaulting,  put  the  rowel  in  his  side ; 
And  up  and  down,  and  round  and  round,  so  fierce  was  his  career, 
Streamed  like  a  pennon  on  the  wind  Ruy  Diaz*  minivere. 

And  all  that  saw  them  praised  them — they  lauded   man   and 

horse, 

As  matched  well,  and  rivalless  for  gallantry  and  force , 
Ne'er  had  they  looked  on  horseman  might  to  this  knight  come 

near, 
Nor  on  other  charger  worthy  of  such  a  cavalier. 

Thus,  to  and  fro  a-rushing,  the  fierce  and  furious  steed, 
He  snapt  in  twain  his  hither  rein  :— "  God  pity  now  the  Cid." 
"  God  pity  Diaz,"  cried  the  Lords,— but  when  they  looked  again, 
They  saw  Ruy  Diaz  ruling  him,  with  the  fragment  of  his  rein ; 
They  saw  him  proudly  ruling  with  gesture  firm  and  calm, 

i  See  the  account  of  this  quarrel,  pp.  59,  60. 


64  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Like  a  true  lord  commanding— and  obeyed  as  by  a  lamb. 

And  so  he  led  him  foaming  and  panting  to  the  King, 

But  "  No,"  said  Don  Alphonso,  "  it  were  a  shameful  thing 

That  peerless  Bavieca  should  ever  be  beetrid 

By  any  mortal  but  Bivar — Mount,  mount  again,  my  Cid." 

— Tr.  by  LOCKHART. 

PROM  THE  POEM  OF  THE  CID. 

The  Cid  has  been  banished  by  King  Alphonso,  has  entered  the  Moors' 
country  and  taken  a  city.  The  Moors  rally,  gather  their  allies  and 
surround  the  Cid's  army.  He  turns  to  consult  with  his  men. 

"  From  water  they  have  cut  us  off,  our  bread  is  running  low  ; 
If  we  would  steal  away  by  night,  they  will  not  let  us  go  ; 
Against  us  there  are  fearful  odds  if  we  make  choice  to  fight ; 
What  would  ye  do  now  gentlemen,  in  this  our  present  plight?  " 
Minaya  was  the  first  to  speak  :  said  the  stout  cavalier, 

"  Forth  from  Castile  the  gentle  thrust,  we  are  but  exiles  here  ; 
Unless  we  grapple  with  the  Moor  bread  he  will  never  yield ; 
A  good  six  hundred  men  or  more  we  have  to  take  the  field ; 
In  God's  name  let  us  falter  not,  nor  countenance  delay, 
But  sally  forth  and  strike  a  blow  upon  to-morrow's  day." 
"  Likethee  the  counsel,"  said  my  Cid;  "thou  speakest  to  my 

mind; 

And  ready  to  support  thy  word  thy  hand  we  ever  find." 
Then  all  the  Moors  that  bide  within  the  walls  he  bids  to  go 
Forth  from  the  gates,  lest  they,  perchance,  his  purpose  come  to 

know 

In  making  their  defences  good  they  spend  the  day  and  night, 
And  at  the  rising  of  the  sun  they  arm  them  for  the  fight. 
Then  said  the  Cid  :    "  Let  all  go  forth,  all  that  are  in  our  band ; 
Save  only  two  of  those  on  foot,  beside  the  gate  to  stand. 
Here  they  will  bury  us  if  death  we  meet  on  yonder  plain, 
But  if  we  win  our  battle  there,  rich  booty  we  shall  gain. 
And  thou  Pero  Bermuez,  this  my  standard  thou  shalt  hold ; 
It  is  a  trust  that  fits  thee  well,  for  thou  art  stout  and  bold  ; 
But  see  that  thou  advance  it  not  unless  I  give  command." 
Bermuez  took  the  standard  and  he  kissed  the  Champion's  hand. 
Then  bursting  through  the  castle  gates  upon  the  plain  they  show; 
Back  on  their  lines  in  panic  fall  the  watchmen  of  the  foe. 
And  hurrying  to  and  fro  the  Moors  are  arming  all  around, 
While  Moorish  drums  go  rolling  like  to  split  the  very  ground, 
And  in  hot  haste  they  mass  their  troops  behind  their  standards 
twain, 


SPANISH  LITERATURE.  65 

Two  mighty  bands  of  men-at-arms  to  count  them  it  were  vain. 
And  now  their  line  comes  sweeping  on,  advancing  to  the  fray, 
Sure  of  my  Cid  and  all  his  band  to  make  an  easy  prey. 
"  Now  steady,  comrades,"  said  my  Cid ;  "  our  ground  we  have 

to  stand ; 

Let  no  man  stir  beyond  the  ranks  until  I  give  command." 
Bermuez  fretted  at  the  word,  delay  he  could  not  brook ; 
He  spurred  his  charger  to  the  front,  aloft  the  banner  shook  : 
1  O  loyal  Cid  Campeador,  God  give  the  aid !  I  go 
To  plant  thy  ensign  in  among  the  thickest  of  the  foe ; 
And  ye  who  serve  it,  be  it  yours  our  standard  to  restore." 
1  Not  so— as  thou  dost  love  me,  stay  ! "  called  the  Campeador. 
Came  Pero's  answer,  "  their  attack  I  cannot,  will  not  stay." 
He  gave  his  horse  the  spur  and  dashed  against  the  Moors  array. 
To  win  the  standard  eager  all  the  Moors  await  the  shock, 
Amid  a  rain  of  blows  he  stands  unshaken  as  a  rock. 
Then  cried  my  Cid :  "  In  charity,  on  to  the  rescue — ho  !  " 
With  bucklers  braced  before  their  breasts,  with  lances  pointing 

low, 
With  stooping  crests  and  heads  bent  down  above  the  saddle 

bow, 

All  firm  of  hand  and  high  of  heart  they  roll  upon  the  foe. 
And  he  that  in  a  good  hour  was  born,  his  clarion  voice  rings  out, 
And  clear  above  the  clang  of  arms  is  heard  his  battle  shout, 
1  Among  them,  gentlemen !    Strike  home  for  the  love  of  charity ! 
The  Champion  of  Bivar  is  here — Ruy  Diaz— I  am  he ! " 
Then  bearing  where  Bermuez  still  maintains  unequal  fight, 
Three  hundred  lances  down  they  come,  their  pennons  flickering 

white ; 

Down  go  three  hundred  Moors  to  earth,  a  man  to  every  blow ; 
And  when  they  wheel  three  hundred  more,  as  wheeling  back 

they  go. 

It  was  a  sight  to  see  the  lances  rise  and  fall  that  day ; 
The  shivered  shields  and  riven  mail,  to  see  how  thick  they  lay ; 
The  pennons  that  went  in  snow-white  come  out  a  gory  red ; 
The  horses  running  riderless,  the  riders  lying  dead  ; 
While   Moors    call    on    Mohammed,    and    "St.    James!"    the 

Christians  cry, 

And  sixty  score  of  Moors  and  more  in  narrow  compass  lie. 
Above  his  gilded   saddle-bow   there   played   the   Champion's 

sword ; 

And  Minaya  Alvar  Fanez,  Zurita's  gallant  lord  ; 
And  Martin  Antolinez  the  worthy  Burgalese ; 
And  Mufio  Qustioz  his  squire — all  to  the  front  were  these. 


66  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

And  there  was  Martin  Mufioz,  he  who  ruled  in  Mont  Mayor ; 

And  there  was  Alvar  Alvarez,  and  Alvar  Salvador  ; 

And  the  good  Galin  Garcia,  stout  lance  of  Arragon  ; 

And  Felix  Mufloz,  nephew  of  my  Cid  the  Champion : 

Well  did  they  quit  themselves  that  day,  all  these  and  many  more, 

In  rescue  of  the  standard  for  my  Cid  Campeador. 

— TV.  by  OBMSBY. 

THE  BATTLE  WITH  KING  BUCAR  OP  MOROCCO,  AT  VALENCIA. 

Loud  from  among  the  Moorish  tents  the  call  to  battle  comes, 
And  some  there  are,  unused  to  war,  awed  by  the  rolling  drums. 
Ferrando  and  Diego  most :  of  troubled  mind  are  the  y ; 
Not  of  their  will  they  find  themselves  before  the  Moors  that  day. 

"  Pero  Burmuez,"  said  the  Cid,  "  my  nephew  staunch  and  true, 
Ferrando  and  Diego  do  I  give  in  charge  to  you ; 
Be  yours  the  task  in  this  day's  fight  my  sons-in-law  to  shield, 
For,  by  God's  grace  to-day  we  sweep  the  Moors  from  off  the 
field ! " 

"  Nay,"  said  Bermuez,  "  Cid,  for  all  the  love  I  bear  to  thee, 
The  safety  of  thy  sons-in-law  no  charge  of  mine  shall  be. 
Let  him  who  will  the  office  fill ;  my  place  is  at  the  front, 
Among  the  comrades  of  my  choice  to  bear  the  battle's  brunt ; 
As  it  is  thine  upon  the  rear  against  surprise  to  guard, 
And  ready  stand  to  give  support  where  'er  the  fight  goes  hard." 
Came  Alvar  Fanez :  "  Loyal  Cid  Campeador,"  he  cried, 

"  This  battle  surely  God  ordains — He  will  be  on  our  side ; 
Now  give  the  order  of  attack  which  seems  to  thee  the  best, 
And,  trust  me,  every  man  of  \is  will  do  his  chief's  behest." 
But  lo !  all  armed  from  head  to  heel  the  Bishop  Jerome  shows ; 
He  ever  brings  good  fortune  to  my  Cid  where'er  he  goes. 

"  Mass  have  I  said,  and  now  I  come  to  join  you  in  the  fray  ; 
To  strike  a  blow  against  the  Moor  in  battle  if  I  may, 
And  in  the  field  win  honor  for  my  order  and  my  hand. 
It  is  for  this  that  I  am  here,  far  from  my  native  land. 
Unto  Valencia  did  I  come  to  cast  my  lot  with  you, 
All  for  the  longing  that  I  had  to  slay  a  Moor  or  two. 
And  so  in  warlike  guise  I  come,  with  blazoned  shield  and  lance, 
That  I  may  flesh  my  blade  to-day,  if  God  but  give  the  chance, 
Then  send  me  to  the  front  to  do  the  bidding  of  my  heart  : 
Grant  me  this  favor  that  I  ask,  or  else,  my  Cid,  we  part." 

"Good!"  said  my  Cid.    "Go,  flesh  thy  blade;   there  stand  thy 

Moorish  foes. 
Now  shall  we  see  how  gallantly  our  fighting  Abbot  goes." 


SPANISH  LITERATURE.  67 

He  said  ;  and  straight  the  Bishop's  spurs  are  in  his  charger's 

flanks, 

And  with  a  will  he  flings  himself  against  the  Moorish  ranks. 
By  his  good  fortune,  and  the  aid  of  God,  that  loved  him  well, 
Two  of  the  foe  before  his  point  at  the  first  onset  fell. 
His  lance  he  broke,  he  drew  his  sword — God !  how  the  good  steel 

played ! 

Two  with  the  lance  he  slew,  now  five  go  down  beneath  his  blade. 
But  many  are  the  Moors  and  round  about  him  fast  they  close, 
And  on  his  hauberk,  and  his  shield,  they  rain  a  shower  of  blows. 

He  in  the  good  hour  born  beheld  Don  Jerome  sorely  pressed ; 
He  braced  his  buckler  on  his  arm,  he  laid  his  lance  in  rest, 
And  aiming  where  beset  by  Moors  the  Bishop  stood  at  bay, 
Touched  Bavieca  with  the  spur  and  plunged  into  the  fray  ; 
And  flung  to  earth  unhorsed  were  seven,  and  lying  dead  were  four, 
Where  breaking  through  the  Moorish  ranks  came  the  Campeador. 
God  it  so  pleased,  that  this  should  be  the  finish  of  the  fight ; 
Before  the  lances  of  my  Cid  the  fray  became  a  flight ; 
And  then  to  see  the  tent-ropes  burst,  the  tent- poles  prostrate  flung ! 
As  the  Cid's  horsemen  crashing  came  the  Moorish  tents  among. 
Forth  from  the  camp  King  Bucar's   Moors  they  drove  upon 

the  plain, 

And  charging  on  the  rout,  they  rode  and  cut  them  down  amain  ; 
Here  severed  lay  the  mail-clad  arm,  there  lay  the  steel-capped 

head, 
And  here  the  charger  riderless,  ran  trampling  on  the  dead. 

Behind  King  Bucar  as  he  fled  my  Cid  came  spurring  on  ; 
"  Now,  turn  thee,  Bucar,  turn ! "  he  cried ;  "here  isthe  Bearded  One: 
Here  is  that  Cid  you  came  to  seek,  King  from  beyond  the  main, 
Let  there  be  peace  and  amity  to-day  between  us  twain." 
Said  Bucar,  "  Nay ;  thy  naked  sword,  thy  rushing  steed,  I  see ; 
If  these  mean  amity,  then  God  confound  such  amity. 
Thy  hand  and  mine  shall  never  join  unless  in  yonder  deep, 
If  the  good  steed  that  I  bestride  his  footing  can  but  keep." 
Swift  was  the  steed,  but  swifter  borne  on  Bavieca's  stride, 
Three  fathoms  from  the  sea  my  Cid  rode  at  King  Bucar's  side ; 
Aloft  his  blade  a  moment  played,  then  on  the  helmet's  crown, 
Shearing  the  steel-cap  dight  with  gems,  Colada  he  brought  down. 
Down  to  the  belt,  through  helm  and  mail,  he  cleft  the  Moor 

in  twain. 

And  so  he  slew  King  Bucar,  who  came  from  beyond  the  main. 
This  was  the  battle,  this  the  day,  when  he  the  great  sword  won, 
Worth  a  full  thousand  marks  of  gold— the  famous  Brand  Tizon. 

—2V.  by  ORMSBY. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

SCANDINAVIAN  LITERATURE. 

SCANDINAVIAN  literature  embraces  the  literature  of  Nor- 
way, Sweden,  Iceland,  and  their  western  colonies.  In  the 
Middle  Ages  this  literature  reached  its  fullest  and  best  de- 
velopment in  Iceland. 

The  earliest  and  greatest  portion  of  this  literature  is  the 
heroic  poetry  forming  the  collection  called  the  Poetic  or  Elder 
Edda.  Like  all  early  poetry  these  were  minstrel  poems,  pass- 
ing orally  from  singer  (skald)  to  singer  for  centuries.  Some  of 
them  were  composed  as  early  as  the  eighth  century.  The  col- 
lection was  probably  made  in  the  thirteenth  century  (1240). 
The  collection  consists  of  thirty-nine  distinct  songs  or  poems. 
They  are  based  upon  common  Norse  mythology  and  tradition. 
In  one  section  of  this  collection  is  found  in  outline  the  story 
of  the  Nibelungs  and  Brunhild — the  stories  which  later 
formed  the  basis  of  the  Niebelungen-Lied.  This  fact  connects 
the  two  literatures  with  the  original  common  Teutonic  tra- 
ditions. Anderson  says,  "  The  Elder  Edda  presents  the  Norse 
cosmogony,  the  doctrines  of  the  Odinic  mythology,  and  the 
lives  and  doings  of  the  gods.  It  contains  also  a  cycle  of  poems 
on  the  demigods  and  mythic  heroes  and  heroines  of  the 
same  period.  It  gives  us  as  complete  a  view  of  the  mytholog- 
ical world  of  the  North  as  Homer  and  Hesiod  do  of  that  of 
Greece  "  (Norse  Mythology). 

Almost  equal  in  importance  and  interest  is  the  Prose  Edda, 

68 


JSCA^DIXA  VIAy  LITERATURE.  69 

sometimes  called  the  Younger  Edda,  arranged  and  in  part 
written  by  Snorra  Sturleson,  who  lived  from  1178  to  1241. 
The  chief  portions  of  it  are  : 

1.  "Gylfaginning,"  in  which  Odin  recounts  to  Gylf  the 
history  of  the  gods. 

2.  "  Bragaraethur, "  the  conversations  of  Braga  the  god  of 
poetry. 

Other  and  less  important  varieties  of  Scandinavian  litera- 
ture are  the  romances  of  history  and  romances  of  pure  fiction. 

VCLUSPA. 

THE  ORACLE  OF  THE  PROPHETESS  VALA. 

The  Voluspa  is  the  first  song  in  the  Elder  Edda.  It  is  a 
song  of  a  prophetess  and  gives  an  account  of  the  creation  of 
the  world,  of  man,  giants,  and  dwarfs  ;  of  the  employments  of 
fairies  or  destinies  ;  of  the  functions  of  the  gods,  their  adven- 
tures, their  quarrels,  and  the  vengeance  they  take  ;  of  the 
final  state  of  the  universe  and  its  dissolution ;  of  the  battle  of 
the  lower  deities  and  the  evil  beings  ;  of  the  renovation  of  the 
world  ;  of  the  happy  lot  of  the  good,  and  the  punishment  of 
the  wicked.  The  first  passage  selected  gives  the  account  of 
creation. 

In  early  times, 

When  Ymer1  lived, 

Was  sand,  nor  sea, 

Nor  cooling  wave ; 

No  earth  was  found, 

Nor  heaven  above ; 

One  chaos  all, 

And  nowhere  grass : 

Until  Bor's2  sons 
Th'  expanse  did  raise, 
By  whom  Midgard 3 
The  great  was  made. 

i  Ymer,  the  progenitor  of  the  giants.  2  Bor,  the  father  of  Odin,  Vile, 

and  Ve.          3  Midgard,  the  earth. 


70  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

From  th*  south  the  sun 
Shone  on  the  walls ; 
Then  did  the  earth 
Green  herbs  produce. 

The  sun  turned  south ; 
The  moon  did  shine ; 
Her  right  hand  held 
The  horse  of  heaven. 
The  sun  knew  not 
His  proper  sphere ; 
The  stars  knew  not 
Their  proper  place ; 
The  moon  knew  not 
Her  proper  power. 

Then  all  the  powers 
Went  to  the  throne, 
The  holy  gods, 
And  held  consult : 
Night  and  cock-crowing 
Their  names  they  gave, 
Morning  also, 
And  noon-day  tide, 
And  afternoon, 
The  years  to  tell. 

The  Asas1  met 
On  Ida's  plains, 
Who  altars  raised 
And  temples  built ; 
Anvils  they  laid, 
And  money  coined ; 
Their  strength  they  tried 
In  various  ways, 
When  making  songs, 
And  forming  tools. 

On  th'  green  they  played 
In  joyful  mood, 
Nor  knew  at  all 
The  want  of  gold, 
Until  there  came 
Three  Thursa  maids, 
i  Asas,  the  gods. 


SCANDINA  VI AN  LITER  A  TURE.  71 

Exceeding  strong, 
From  Jotunheim : l 

Until  there  came 
Out  of  the  ranks, 
Powerful  and  fair, 
Three  Asas  home, 
And  found  on  shore, 
In  helpless  plight, 
Ask  and  Embla  * 
Without  their  fate. 

They  had  not  yet 
Spirit  or  mind, 
Blood,  or  beauty, 
Or  lovely  hue. 
Odin  gave  spirit, 
Heinir  gave  mind, 
Lothur  gave  blood 
And  lovely  hue. 

— Tr.  by  HENDERSON. 

The  second  passage  gives  an  account  of  the  universal  dissolution— called 
Ragnarok,  the  Twilight  of  the  Gods. 

Loud  barks  Gann 3 
At  Gnipa-cave ; 
The  fetters  are  severed, 
The  wolf  is  set  free, — 
Vala4  knows  the  future. 
More  does  she  see 
Of  the  victorious  gods' 
Terrible  fall. 

From  the  east  drives  Hrym,5 

Bears  his  child  before  him  ; 

Jormungander  welters 

In  giant  fierceness ; 

The  waves  thunder ; 

The  eagle  screams, 

Rends  the  corpses  with  pale  beak, 

And  Xaglfar6  is  launched. 

A  ship  from  the  east  nears, 

i  The  home  of  the  giants.          2  The  first  man  and  first  woman  made  out  of 
pine  trees  by  the  three  gods  Odin,  Heinir,  and  Lothur.  3  Hel's  dog. 

<  Vala,  the  prophetess,          s  The  winter.  «  Naglfar,  a  ship  of  the  gods. 


72  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

The  hosts  of  Muspel 

Come  o'er  the  main, 

But  Loke  is  pilot. 

All  grim  and  gaunt  monsters 

Conjoin  with  the  wolf, 

And  before  them  all  goes 

The  brother  of  Byleist.1 

From  the  south  wends  Surt 2 
With  seething  fire ; 
The  sun  of  the  war-god 
Shines  in  his  sword ; 
Mountains  together  dash, 
And  frighten  the  giant-maids ; 
Heroes  tread  the  paths  to  Hel, 
And  heaven  in  twain  is  rent. 

Over  Hlin 3  then  shall  come 
Another  woe, 
When  Odin  goes  forth 
The  wolf  to  combat. 

All  men 
Abandon  the  earth. 

The  sun  darkens, 

The  earth  sinks  into  the  ocean ; 

The  lucid  stars 

From  heaven  vanish ; 

Fire  and  vapor 

Rage  toward  heaven ; 

High  flames 

Involve  the  skies. 

Loud  barks  Garm 
At  Gnipa-cave : 
The  fetters  are  severed, 
The  wolf  is  set  free,— 
Vala  knows  the  future. 
More  does  she  see 
Of  the  victorious  gods' 
Terrible  fall. 

— Tr.  by  THORPE. 

i  The  brother  of  Byleist,  Loke.  2  Surt,  a  flre-giant. 

s  Hlin,  a  name  sometimes  used  for  the  goddess,  Frigg. 


SCANDINA  VIAN  LITEEA  TURE.  73 

The  conclusion  of  the  "  Voluspa  "  is  the  following  picture  of  the  regenerated 
earth. 

She  sees  arise, 
The  second  time, 
From  th'  sea,  the  earth 
Completely  green : 
Cascades  do  fall ; 
The  eagle  soars, 
That  on  the  hills 
Pursues  his  prey. 

The  gods  convene 
On  Ida's  plains, 
And  talk  of  man, 
The  worm  of  dust : 
They  call  to  mind 
Their  former  might, 
And  th'  ancient  runes 
Of  Fimbultyr.1 

The  fields  unsown 
Shall  yield  their  growth ; 
All  ills  shall  cease  ; 
Balder*  shall  come, 
And  dwell  with  Hauthr3 
In  Hropt's4  abodes. 
Say,  warrior-gods, 
Conceive  ye  yet  ? 

A  hall  she  sees 
Outshine  the  sun, 
Of  gold  its  roof, 
It  stands  in  heaven  : 
The  virtuous  there 
Shall  always  dwell, 
And  evermore 
Delights  enjoy. 

—Tr.  by  HENDERSON. 

HAVAMAL. 

THE  HIGH-SONG  OF  ODIN. 

This  is  the  second  song  in  the  Elder  Edda.    Odin  himself  is 
represented  as  its  author.    It  contains  a  pretty  complete  code 

i  Fimbultyr,  Odin.  *  Balder,  the  god  of  the  summer. 

s  Hauthr,  Hoder,  the  brother  of  Balder.  4Hropt,  Odin. 


74  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

of  Odinic  morality  and  precepts  of  wisdom,  in  the  form  of 
social  and  moral  maxims. 

All  door- ways 
Before  going  forward, 
Should  be  looked  to ; 
For  difficult  it  is  to  know 
Where  foes  may  sit 
Within  a  dwelling. 

Of  his  understanding 

No  one  should  be  proud, 

But  rather  in  conduct  cautious. 

When  the  prudent  and  taciturn 

Come  to  a  dwelling, 

Harm  seldom  befalls  the  cautious ; 

For  a  firmer  friend 

No  man  ever  gets 

Than  great  sagacity. 

One's  own  house  is  best, 

Small  though  it  be ; 

At  home  is  every  one  his  own  master. 

Though  he  but  two  goats  possess, 

And  a  straw-thatched  cot, 

Even  that  is  better  than  begging. 

One's  own  house  is  best, 

Small  though  it  be ; 

At  home  is  every  one  his  own  master. 

Bleeding  at  heart  is  he 

Who  has  to  ask 

For  food  at  every  meal-tide. 

A  miserable  man, 
And  ill-conditioned, 
Sneers  at  everything : 
One  thing  he  knows  not, 
Which  he  ought  to  know, 
That  he  is  not  free  from  faults. 


Know  if  thou  hast  a  friend 
Whom  thou  fully  trustest, 
And  from  whom  thou  would'st  good  derive ; 


SCANDINA  VIAN  LITERA TUBE.  75 

Thou  should' st  blend  thy  mind  with  his, 
And  gifts  exchange, 
And  often  go  to  see  him. 

If  thou  hast  another 

Whom  thou  little  trustest, 

Yet  would' st  good  from  him  derive, 

Thou  should' st  speak  him  fair, 

But  think  craftily, 

And  leasing  pay  with  lying. 

But  of  him  yet  further 

Whom  thou  little  trustest, 

And  thou  suspectest  his  affection, 

Before  him  thou  should'st  laugh, 

And  contrary  to  thy  thoughts  speak ; 

Requital  should  the  gift  resemble. 

I  once  was  young, 
I  was  journeying  alone 
And  lost  my  way  ; 
Rich  I  thought  myself 
When  I  met  another : 
Man  is  the  joy  of  man. 

Liberal  and  brave 

Men  live  best, 

They  seldom  cherish  sorrow  ; 

But  a  bare-minded  man 

Dreads  everything ; 

The  niggardly  is  uneasy  even  at  gifts. 

My  garments  in  a  field 

I  gave  away 

To  two  wooden  men : 

Heroes  they  seemed  to  be 

When  they  got  cloaks  :l 

Exposed  to  insult  is  a  naked  man. 


Something  great 
Is  not  always  to  be  given, 
Praise  is  often  for  a  trifle  bought 
With  half  a  loaf 
And  a  tilted  vessel 
I  got  myself  a  comrade, 
i  The  tailor  makes  the  man. 


76  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Little  are  the  sand  grains, 

Little  the  wits, 

Little  the  minds  of  men ; 

For  all  men 

Are  not  wise  alike : 

Men  are  everywhere  by  halves. 

Moderately  wise 

Should  each  one  be, 

But  never  over- wise ; 

For  a  wise  man's  heart 

Is  seldom  glad, 

If  he  is  all-wise  who  owns  it. 

Much  too  early 

I  came  to  many  places, 

But  too  late  to  others ; 

The  beer  was  drunk, 

Or  not  ready : 

The  disliked  seldom  hits  the  moment. 

Cattle  die, 

Kindred  die, 

We  ourselves  also  die  ; 

But  the  fair  fame 

Never  dies 

Of  him  who  has  earned  it. 

Cattle  die, 

Kindred  die, 

We  ourselves  also  die ; 

But  I  know  one  thing 

That  never  dies, — 

Judgment  on  each  one  dead. 

— Tr.  by  THORPE. 

VAFTHRUDNISMAL. 

THE  SONG  OF  VAFTHRUDNER. 

From  the  third  poem  in  the  Elder  Edda  came  the  following 
lines,  describing  the  day  and  the  night : 

Belling  called  is  he 

Who  the  Day's  father  is, 

But  Night  was  of  Norve  born  ; 


JSCAXTDINA  VI AN  LITERATURE.  77 

The  new  and  waning  moons 
The  beneficent  powers  created 
To  count  years  for  men. 

Skinfaxe1  he  is  named 

That  the  bright  day  draws 

Forth  over  human  kind ; 

Of  coursers  he  is  best  accounted 

Among  faring  men ; 

Ever  sheds  light  that  horse's  mane. 

Hrimfaxe2  he  is  called 

That  each  night  draws  forth 

Over  the  beneficent  powers  ; 

He  from  his  bit  lets  fall 

Drops  every  morn 

Whence  in  the  dells  comes  dew. 

— Tr.  by  THORPE. 

1  Skinfaxe  (shining  mane),  the  horse  of  Day. 

2  Hrimfaxe  (Rime  mane),  the  horse  of  Night. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 
GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

THERE  are  three  classical  periods  in  German  literature.1 

1.  The  Old  High  German  Period,  culminating  about  600 
A.  D.    The  chief  development  of  this  period  is  the  epic  legend 
and  poetry.    As  this  literature  remained  largely  unwritten,  it 
is  all  lost  except  one  fragment,  The  Song  of  Hildebrand. 

2.  The  Middle  High  German  Period,  culminating  about 
1200  A.  D.    This  was  in  Germany,  as  elsewhere  in  Europe, 
a  time  of  abundant  literary  activity.    It  is  the  period  of  the 
renaissance   of  the   heroic  legends  of  the  first  period,  and 
their  remaking  into  developed  epic  poetry  ;  of  the  writing 
of  romances  of  chivalry  and  of  antiquity ;  of  the  develop- 
ment of  the  lyric  poetry  of  the  Minnesingers  ;  of  the  growth 
of  popular  fables  and  tales  and  of  the  drama.    In  short,  all 
the  forms  of  literary  production  known  to  the  Middle  Ages 
flourished  in  Germany  in  this  period. 

3.  The  Modern  Classical  Period,  culminating  about  1800 
in  the  work  of  Goethe,  Schiller,  and  the  many  poets  and 
scholars  surrounding  them. 

THE  NATIONAL  EPIC. 

The  fragment  of  the  Song  of  Hildebrand  is  the  sole  sur- 
viving portion  of  the  heroic  literature  of  the  first  period.  The 
story  runs  that  "  Hildebrand  had  fought  in  his  youth  in  Italy, 

i  See  Scherer's  "  History  of  German  Literature."    Vol.  I.,  page  16. 

78 


GERMAN  LITERATURE.  79 

married  there,  and  left  a  three-year  son,  when  he  was  driven 
by  Odoacer  to  Attila,  king  of  the  Huns.  After  years,  in  which 
the  son  grew  up  to  manhood,  Hildebrand  re-entered  Italy  as  a 
great  chief  in  the  army  of  Theodoric.  His  son,  Hadubrand 
was  then  a  chief  combatant  in  Odoacer's  army."  They  chal- 
lenge each  other  to  combat,  and  though  the  fragment  ends 
before  the  fight  is  over,  it  is  thought  from  other  references 
that  Hildebrand  is  victor. 

THE  SONG  OF  HILDEBRAND. 

I  have  heard  tell,  they  called  each  other  forth, 
Hildebrand,  Hadubrand,  among  the  hosts. 
Son,  father,  made  them  ready  for  the  strife. 
Donned  their  war  shirts,  and  girded  on  their  swords 
Over  ringed  mail,  rode,  heroes,  to  the  fight. 

Hildebrand,  Herbrand's  son,  the  elder  man 
And  wiser,  spake,  well  skilled  in  questionings 
Asked  in  few  words,  who  among  all  the  folk 
His  father  was,  "  or  of  what  stock  thou  be? 
Tell,  and  I'll  give  a  mail  of  triple  web  : 
Child  in  this  realm,  I  knew  its  families." 
Hadubrand  spoke,  Hildebrand' s  son :    "  The  old 
And  wise  among  our  folk  tell  me  my  father 
Was  Hildebrand,  my  name  is  Hadubrand. 
My  father  went  to  the  east  to  fly  the  hate 
Of  Otaker,  with  Dietrich  and  his  bands. 
A  slender  bride  abiding  in  the  lands 
He  left  in  bower,  with  an  ungrown  child, 
And  weapons  masterless.    Eastward  he  went 
When  sorrow  came  to  Deitrich,  friendless  man, 
My  kinsman  Otaker  became  his  foe. 
Most  famed  of  warriors,  since  Dietrich  fell, 
Foremost  in  every  field,  he  loved  the  fight, 
Praised  by  the  bold,  I  doubt  not  he  is  dead." 

"  Lord  God  of  men,"  spake  Hildebrand,  "from  heaven 
Stay  strife  between  two  men  so  near  in  blood ! " 
Then  twisted  from  his  arm  the  bracelet  ring 
That  once  the  King  of  Huns  had  given  him, 

"  I  give  it  you  in  token  of  my  love." 


80  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Spake  Hadubrand,  the  son  of  Hildebrand, 
"  At  the  spear's  point  I  take  of  you  such  gifts, 
Point  against  point.    No  comrade  thou,  old  Hun, 
With  sly,  enticing  words  wouldst  win  me  near : 
My  answer  to  thee  is  with  cast  of  spear. 
Thou'rt  old.    This  cunning  out  of  age  is  bred. 
Over  the  Midland  Sea  came  foes  who  said, 
Hildebrand,  son  of  Herbrand,  he  is  dead." 

Hildebrand,  son  of  Herbrand,  spake  again : 
"  Thine  arms  show  that  in  this  land  thou  couldst  not  gain 
A  liberal  leader  or  a  royal  friend. 
Now  well  away.    Great  God,  fate's  evil  end ! 
For  sixty  years,  exile  in  stranger  lands, 
Summer  and  winter  with  spear-darting  bands, 
Never  once  leg  bound  within  city  wall, 
I  come  back  by  my  own  son's  hand  to  fall, 
Hewn  by  his  sword,  or  be  his  murderer, — 
But  if  thy  strength  hold,  thou  canst  readily 
Win  of  the  brave  his  arms,  spoil  of  the  slain, 
When  thine  by  right."    Said  Hildebrand,  "  Now,  worst 
Of  Ostrogoths  be  he  who  holds  me  back ! 
My  heart  is  for  the  fray. 

Judge  comrades  who  look  on,  which  of  us  wins 
The  fame,  best  throws  the  dart,  and  earns  the  spoil." 
The  ashen  spears  then  sped,  stuck  in  the  shields 
With  their  keen  points,  and  down  on  the  white  shields 
The  heavy  axes  rang  with  sounding  blows, 
Shattering  their  rims,  the  flesh  behind  stood  firm.    .    .    . 

— Tr.  by  MORLEY. 

In  the  second,  or  Middle  High  German  Period,  the  heroic 
legends  of  early  times  were  revived  and  formed  the  subject 
matter  of  many  epic  and  semi-epic  poems.  These  legends 
have  been  classified  into  six  several  cycles  of  romances  : l 

1.  The  Frankish  cycle  contains  the  stories  of  Siegfried, 
the  Sigurd  of  the  Scandinavian  tradition. 

2.  The  Burgundian  cycle  contains  King  Gunther. 

3.  The  Ostrogoth  cycle  contains  Dietrich,  Theodoric,  and 
Hildebrand. 

i  Cf.    Morley's  "  English  Writers."    Vol.  III.,  pp.  153-4. 


GERM  A  X  LITER  A  TURE.  81 

4.  The  Hungarian  cycle,  to  which  belongs  Attila  or  Etzel, 
and  Rudiger. 

5.  The  Lombard  cycle,  to  which  belong  King  Bother,  King 
Otnit,  and  Wolfdietrich. 

6.  The  North  Saxon  cycle,  to  which  belongs  the  tale  of 
Gudrun. 

The  two  most  important  of  all  the  epics  based  upon  these 
cycles  are  the  Gudrun  and  the  Niebelungenlied.  The  latter 
is  the  more  comprehensive,  national,  and  famous.  It  includes 
and  unifies  all  the  tales  from  the  first  four  cycles  of  heroic 
legends.1  The  whole  of  German  art,  literature,  and  tradition 
is  full  of  reflections  of  this  poem. 

The  best  scholarship  has  concluded  that  the  poem  is  not 
the  work  of  a  single  author,  but,  like  other  folk  epics,  an 
edited  collection  of  songs.  The  work  was  finished  about 
1190-1210.  It  consists  of  two  greater  parts,  (1)  the  Death  of 
Siegfried  and  (2)  the  Vengeance  of  Kriemhild. 

From  the  Niebelungenlied. 

The  first  song  in  the  poem  gives  us  Kriemhild's  fore- 
boding dream. 

KRIEMHILD'S  DREAM. 
Stanzas  1-19. 

In  stories  of  our  fathers  high  marvels  we  are  told 
Of  champions  well  approved  in  perils  manifold. 
Of  feasts  and  merry  meetings,  of  weeping  and  of  wail, 
And  deeds  of  gallant  daring  I'll  tell  you  in  my  tale. 

In  Burgundy  there  flourish' d  a  maid  so  fair  to  see, 

That  in  all  the  world  together  a  fairer  could  not  be. 

This  maiden's  name  was  Kriemhild ;  through  her  in  dismal  strife 

Full  many  a  proudest  warrior  thereafter  lost  his  life. 

Many  a  fearless  champion,  as  such  well  became, 
Woo'd  the  lovely  lady  ;  she  from  none  had  blame. 
Matchless  was  her  person,  matchless  was  her  mind. 
This  one  maiden's  virtue  grac'd  all  womankind. 

i  See  Kluge,  "  Geschichte  der  Deutschen  National-Literature,"  p.  33. 


2  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Three  puissant  Kings  her  guarded  with  all  the  care  they  might, 
Gunther  and  eke  Gernot,  each  a  redoubted  knight, 
And  Giselher  the  youthful,  a  chosen  champion  he ; 
This  lady  was  their  sister,  well  lov'd  of  all  the  three. 

They  were  high  of  lineage,  thereto  mild  of  mood, 
But  in  field  and  foray  champions  fierce  and  rude. 
They  rul'd  a  mighty  kingdom,  Burgundy  by  name ; 
They  wrought  in  Etzel's  country  deeds  of  deathless  fame. 

At  Worms  was  their  proud  dwelling,  the  fair  Rhine  flowing  by, 
There  had  they  suit  and  service  from  haughtiest  chivalry 
For  broad  lands  and  lordships,  and  glorious  was  their  state, 
Till  wretchedly  they  perish' d  by  two  noble  ladies'  hate. 

Dame  TJta  was  their  mother,  a  queen  both  rich  and  sage ; 
Their  father  bight  Dancrat,  who  the  fair  heritage 
Left  to  his  noble  children  when  he  his  course  had  run ; 
He  too  by  deeds  of  knighthood  in  youth  had  worship  won. 

Each  of  these  three  princes,  as  you  have  heard  me  say, 
Were  men  of  mighty  puissance.    They  had  beneath  their  sway 
The  noblest  knights  for  liegemen  that  ever  dwelt  on  ground  ; 
For  hardihood  and  prowess  were  none  so  high  renown' d. 

There  was  Hagan  of  Trony  of  a  noble  line, 

His  brother  nimble  Dankwart,  and  the  knight  of  Metz,  Ortwine, 

Eckewart  and  Gary,  the  margraves  stout  in  fight, 

Folker  of  Alzeia,  full  of  manly  might. 

Rumolt  the  steward  (a  chosen  knight  was  he), 
Sindolt,  and  Hunolt;  these  serv'd  the  brethren  three, 
At  their  court  discharging  their  several  duties  well ; 
Besides,  knights  had  they  many  whom  now  I  cannot  tell. 

Dankwart  was  marshal  to  the  king  his  lord, 

Ort\vine  of  Metz,  his  nephew,  was  carver  at  the  board, 

Sindolt  he  was  butler,  a  champion  choice  and  true, 

The  chamberlain  was  Hunolt ;  they  well  their  duties  knew. 

The  gorgeous  pomp   and   splendour,  wherein  these  brethren 

reign'd, 

How  well  they  tended  knighthood,  what  worship  they  attain'd, 
How  they  thro'  life  were  merry,  and  mock'd  at  woe  and  bale — 
Who'd  seek  all  this  to  tell  you,  would  never  end  his  tale. 


GERMAN  LITERATURE.  83 

A  dream  was  dreamt  by  Kriemhild  the  virtuous  and  the  gay, 
How  a  wild  young  falcon  she  train' d  for  many  a  day, 
Till  two  fierce  eagles  tore  it ;  to  her  there  could  not  be 
In  all  the  world  such  sorrow  at  this  perforce  to  see. 

To  her  mother  Uta  at  once  the  dream  she  told, 
But  she  the  threatening  future  could  only  thus  unfold ; 
"  The  falcon  that  thou  trainedst  is  sure  a  noble  mate ; 
God  shield  him  in  his  mercy,  or  thou  must  lose  him  straight." 

"  A  mate  for  me?  what  say'st  thou,  dearest  mother  mine? 
Ne'er  to  love,  assure  thee,  my  heart  will  I  resign. 
I'll  live  and  die  a  maiden,  and  end  as  I  began, 
Nor  (let  what  else  befall  me)  will  suffer  woe  for  man." 

"  Nay,"  said  her  anxious  mother,  "  renounce  not  marriage  so ; 
Wouldst  thou  true  heartfelt  pleasure  taste  ever  here  below, 
Man's  love  alone  can  give  it.    Thou  'rt  fair  as  eye  can  see, 
A  fitting  mate  God  send  thee,  and  nought  will  wanting  be." 

"  No  more,"  the  maiden  answer'd,  "  no  more,  dear  mother,  say ; 
From  many  a  woman's  fortune  this  truth  is  clear  as  day, 
That  falsely  smiling  Pleasure  with  Pain  requites  us  ever. 
I  from  both  will  keep  me,  and  thus  will  sorrow  never." 

So  in  her  lofty  virtues,  fancy-free  and  gay, 

Liv'd  the  noble  maiden  many  a  happy  day, 

Nor  one  more  than  another  found  favour  in  her  sight ; 

Still  at  the  last  she  wedded  a  far-renowned  knight. 

He  was  the  self-same  falcon  she  in  her  dream  had  seen, 
Foretold  by  her  wise  mother.    What  vengeance  took  the  queen 
On  her  nearest  kinsmen  who  him  to  death  had  done ! 
That  single  death  atoning  died  many  a  mother's  son. 

In  his  home  in  the  Netherlands  the  hero  Siegfried  hears  of  the  beauty  of 
Kriemhild  and  after  magnificent  preparations  comes  to  "Worms  to  Avin 
her,  if  possible,  for  his  bride.  After  a  long  stay  at  the  court  of  her 
brother,  he  finally  sees  her  at  a  feast.  They  love  each  other  at  their 
first  meeting. 

In  Isenstein,  far  over  the  sea,  lives  Brunhild,  the  Amazon-queen,  who  is 
pledged  to  wed  only  him  who  can  conquer  her  in  single  combat. 
Gunther,  the  brother  of  Kriemhild,  desires  her  for  his  wife.  Siegfried 
promises  to  win  her  for  him  on  condition  that  Gunther  grant  him 
Kriemhild's  hand  in  return.  They  proceed  to  Brunhild's  land,  where 
Siegfried,  by  the  aid  of  a  magic  cloak,  which  renders  him  invisible, 
helps  Gunther  to  overcome  Brunhild. 


84  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

THE  CONQUEST  OF  BRUNHILD. 
Stanzas  447-455. 
There  too  was  come  fair  Brunhild;  arm'd  might  you  see  her 

stand, 

As  though  resolv'd  to  champion  all  kings  for  all  their  land. 
She  bore  on  her  silk  surcoat  gold  spangles  light  and  thin, 
That  quivering  gave  sweet  glimpses  of  her  fair  snowy  skin. 

Then  came  on  her  followers,  and  forward  to  the  field 
Of  ruddy  gold  far-sparkling  bore  a  mighty  shield, 
Thick,  and  broad,  and  weighty,  with  studs  of  steel  o'erlaid, 
The  which  was  wont  in  battle  to  wield  the  martial  maid. 

As  thong  to  that  huge  buckler  a  gorgeous  band  there  lay ; 
Precious  stones  beset  it  as  green  as  grass  in  May ; 
With  varying  hues  it  glitter' d  against  the  glittering  gold. 
Who  would  woo  its  wielder  must  be  boldest  of  the  bold. 

Beneath  its  folds  enormous  three  spans  thick  was  the  shield, 
If  all  be  true  they  tell  us,  that  Brunhild  bore  in  field. 
Of  steel  and  gold  compacted  all  gorgeously  it  glow'd. 
Four  chamberlains,  that  bore  it,  stagger' d  beneath  the  load. 

Grimly  smil'd  Sir  Hagan,  Trony's  champion  strong, 
And  mutter'd,  as  he  mark'd  it  trail'd  heavily  along, 
"  How  now,  my  lord  king  Gunther?  who  thinks  to  scape  with  life? 
This  love  of  yours  and  lady — 'faith  she's  the  devil's  wife." 

Then  to  the  maid  was  carried  heavily  and  slow 
A  strong  w ell-sharpen' d  jav'lin,  which  she  ever  us'd  to  throw, 
Huge  and  of  weight  enormous,  fit  for  so  strong  a  queen, 
Cutting  deep  and  deadly  with  its  edges  keen. 

To  form  the  mighty  spear-head  a  wondrous  work  was  done  ; 
Three  weights  of  iron  and  better  were  welden  into  one ; 
The  same  three  men  of  Brunhild's  scarcely  along  could  bring ; 
Whereat  deeply  ponder' d  the  stout  Burgundian  king. 

To  himself  thus  thought  he,  "what  have  I  not  to  fear  ? 

The  devil  himself  could  scarcely  'scape  from  such  danger  clear. 

In  sooth,  if  I  were  only  in  safety  by  the  Rhine, 

Long  might  remain  this  maiden  free  from  all  suit  of  mine." 

Stanzas  464-483. 
Then  was  the  strength  of  Brunhild  to  each  beholder  shown. 


GERM  A  N  LITER  A  TVRE.  85 

Into  the  ring  by  th'  effort  of  panting  knights  a  stone 

Was  borne  of  weight  enormous,  massy  and  large  and  round. 

It  strain'd  twelve  brawny  champions  to  heave  it  to  the  ground. 

This  would  she  cast  at  all  times  when  she  had  hurl'd  the  spear ; 
The  sight  the  bold  Burgundians  fill'd  with  care  and  fear. 
Quoth  Hagan,  "  she's  a  darling  to  lie  by  Gunther's  side. 
Better  the  foul  fiend  take  her  to  serve  him  as  a  bride." 

Her  sleeve  back  turn'd  the  maiden,  and  bar'd  her  arm  of  snow, 
Her  heavy  shield  she  handled,  and  brandished  to  and  fro 
High  o'er  her  head  the  jav'lin  ;  thus  began  the  strife. 
Bold  as  they  were,  the  strangers  each  trembled  for  his  life ; 

And  had  not  then  to  help  him  come  Siegfried  to  his  side, 
At  once  by  that  grim  maiden  had  good  king  Gunther  died. 
Unseen  up  went  he  to  him,  unseen  he  touch' d  his  hand. 
His  trains  bewilder' d  Gunther  was  slow  to  understand. 

"Who  was  it  just  now   touch'd  me?"    thought  he  and  star'd 

around 

To  see  who  could  be  near  him  ;  not  a  soul  he  found. 
Said  th'  other,  "  I  am  Siegfried,  thy  trusty  friend  and  true ; 
Be  not  in  fear  a  moment  for  all  the  queen  can  do." 

Said  he,  "  off  with  the  buckler  and  give  it  me  to  bear ; 
Now,  what  I  shall  advise  thee,  mark  with  thy  closest  care. 
Be  it  thine  to  make  the  gestures,  and  mine  the  work  to  do." 
Glad  man  was  then  king  Gunther,  when  he  his  helpmate  knew. 

*'  But  all  my  trains  keep  secret ;  thus  for  us  both  'twere  best ; 
Else  this  o'erweening  maiden,  be  sure,  will  never  rest, 
Till  her  grudge  against  thee  to  full  effect  she  bring. 
See  where  she  stands  to  face  thee  so  sternly  in  the  ring !  " 

With  all  her  strength  the  jav'lin  the  forceful  maiden  threw. 
It  came  upon  the  buckler  massy,  broad,  and  new, 
That  in  his  hand  unshaken,  the  son  of  Sieglind  bore. 
Sparks  from  the  steel  came  streaming,  as  if  the  breeze  before. 

Right  through  the  groaning  buckler  the  spear  tempestuous  broke; 
Fire  from  the  mail-links  sparkled  beneath  the  thund' ring  stroke, 
Those  two  mighty  champions  stagger' d  from  side  to  side  ; 
But  for  the  wondrous  cloud-cloak  both  on  the  spot  had  died. 

From  the  mouth  of  Siegfried  burst  the  gushing  blood  ; 

Soon  he  again  sprung  forward  ;  straight  snatch' d  the  hero  good 


86  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

The  spear  that  through  his  buckler  she  just  had  hurl'd  a  main, 
And  sent  it  at  its  mistress  in  thunder  back  again. 

Thought  he  "  't  were  sure  a  pity  so  fair  a  maid  to  slay  ;  " 
So  he  revers'd  the  jav'lin,  and  turn'd  the  point  away. 
Yet,  with  the  butt  end  foremost,  so  forceful  was  the  throw, 
That  the  sore-smitten  damsel  totter' d  to  and  fro. 

From  her  mail  fire  sparkled  as  driven  before  the  blast ; 
With  such  huge  strength  the  jav'lin  by  Sieglind's  son  was  cast, 
That  'gainst  the  furious  impulse  she  could  no  longer  stand. 
A  stroke  so  sturdy  never  could  come  from  Gunther's  hand. 

Up  in  a  trice  she  started,  and  straight  her  silence  broke, 
"  Noble  knight,  Sir  Gunther,  'thank  thee  for  the  stroke." 
She  thought 't  was  Gunther's  manhood  had  laid  her  011  the  lea ; 
No !  't  was  not  he  had  fell'd  her,  but  a  mightier  far  than  he. 

Then  turn'd  aside  the  maiden ;  angry  was  her  mood ; 
On  high  the  stone  she  lifted  rugged  and  round  and  rude, 
And  brandish'd  it  with  fury,  and  far  before  her  flung, 
Then  bounded  quick  behind  it,  that  loud  her  armour  rung. 

Twelve  fathoms'  length  or  better  the  mighty  mass  was  thrown, 
But  the  maiden  bounded  further  than  the  stone. 
To  where  the  stone  was  lying  Siegfried  fleetly  flew  ; 
dfunther  did  but  lift  it,  th'  Unseen  it  was,  who  threw. 

Bold,  tall,  and  strong  was  Siegfried,  the  first  all  knights  among ; 
He  threw  the  stone  far  further,  behind  it  further  sprung. 
His  wondrous  arts  had  made  him  so  more  than  mortal  strong, 
That  with  him  as  he  bounded,  he  bore  the  king  along. 

The  leap  was  seen  of  all  men,  there  lay  as  plain  the  stone, 
But  seen  was  no  one  near  it,  save  Gunther  all  alone. 
Brunhild  was  red  with  anger,  quick  came  her  panting  breath ; 
Siegfried  has  rescued  Gunther  that  day  from  certain  death. 

Then  all  aloud  fair  Brunhild  bespake  her  courtier  band, 
Seeing  in  the  ring  at  distance  unharm'd  her  wooer  stand, 
"  Hither,  my  men  and  kinsmen :  low  to  my  better  bow ; 
I  am  no  more  your  mistress ;  you're  Gunther's  liegemen  now." 

Down  cast  the  noble  warriors  their  weapons  hastily, 

And  lowly  kneel'd  to  Gunther  the  king  of  Burgundy. 

To  him  as  to  their  sovran  was  kingly  homage  done, 

"Whose  manhood,  as  they  fancied,  the  mighty  match  had  won. 


GERMAN  LITERATURE.  87 

He  fair  the  chiefs  saluted  bending  with  gracious  look ; 
Then  by  the  hand  the  maiden  her  conquering  suitor  took, 
And  granted  him  to  govern  the  land  with  sovran  sway  ; 
Whereat  the  warlike  nobles  were  joyous  all  and  gay. 

Upon  the  return  to  Worms  the  double  marriage  feast  is  celebrated— the 
weddings  of  Gunther  and  Brunhild,  of  Siegfried  and  Kriemhild.  A 
second  time  is  Gunther  compelled  to  ask  the  help  of  Siegfried  in  con- 
quering Brunhild,  who  again  thinks  that  Gunther  is  the  conqueror. 
From  this  second  struggle  Siegfried  carries  away  Briinhild's  ring  and 
girdle,  which  he  gives  to  Kriemhild. 

Siegfried  and  Kriemhild  depart  to  his  country,  and  not  until  after  ten 
years  do  they  visit  again  the  court  of  Gunther.  At  the  festival  given 
in  honor  of  this  visit,  the  two  queens,  looking  on  at  the  knightly  games, 
fall  into  a  bitter  quarrel  concerning  the  prowess  of  their  husbands. 
Kriemhild  boasts  to  Brunhild  that  it  was  Siegfried  and  not  Gunther 
who  overcame  her  in  both  struggles.  To  prove  her  taunt  she  shows  the 
girdle  and  ring. 

Brunhild  is  thrown  into  violent  anger  by  the  insult  and  desires  only  ven- 
geance upon  Siegfried  and  Kriemhild.  Hagen,  the  most  valiant  of 
Gunther's  vassals,  takes  up  her  cause,  and  seeks  opportunity  to  kill 
Siegfried. 

A  war  against  the  Saxons  is  declared,  in  which  Siegfried  offers  to  assist 
Gunther.  On  the  eve  of  the  departure  to  battle,  Hagen  visits  Kriem- 
hild. She  begs  him  to  protect  Siegfried,  and  tells  him  the  story  of  her 
husband's  one  vulnerable  spot — when  Siegfried  had  killed  the  dragon, 
he  bathed  in  its  blood,  and  was  rendered  invulnerable,  except  in  one 
spot,  where  a  lime  leaf  fell  between  his  shoulders.  This  spot  the  dragon 
blood  did  not  touch. 

Kriemhild  promises  to  mark  this  spot  with  a  silken  cross,  that  Hagen 
may  the  better  protect  her  husband.  The  next  morning  the  excursion 
against  the  Saxons  is  withdrawn,  and  the  heroes  conclude  to  go  on  a 
hunting  party. 

THE  HUNTING  AND  THE  DEATH  OF  SIEGFRIED. 

Stanzas  944-953. 

Gunther  and  Hagan,  the  warriors  fierce  and  bold, 
To  execute  their  treason,  resolved  to  scour  the  wold. 
The  bear,  the  boar,  the  wild  bull,  by  hill  or  dale  or  fen, 
To  hunt  with  keen-edg'd  javelins;  what  fitter  sport  for  valiant 
men? 

In  lordly  pomp  rode  with  them  Siegfried  the  champion  strong. 
Good  store  of  costly  viands  they  brought  with  them  along. 
Anon  by  a  cool  runnel  he  lost  his  guiltless  life. 
'T  was  so  devis'd  by  Brunhild,  king  Gunther's  moody  wife. 


88  SO3TG  A^fD  LEGEXD. 

But  first  he  sought  the  chamber  where  he  his  lady  found. 

He  and  his  friends  already  had  on  the  sumpters  bound 

Their  gorgeous  hunting  raiment ;  they  o'er  the  Rhine  would  go. 

Never  before  was  Kriemhild  sunk  so  deep  in  woe. 

On  her  mouth  of  roses  he  kiss'd  his  lady  dear ; 
"  God  grant  me,  dame,  returning  in  health  to  see  thee  here  ; 
So  may  those  eyes  see  me  too  ;  meanwhile  be  blithe  and  gay 
Among  thy  gentle  kinsmen  ;  I  must  hence  away." 

Then  thought  she  on  the  secret  (the  truth  she  durst  not  tell) 

How  she  had  told  it  Hagan ;  then  the  poor  lady  fell 

To  wailing  and  lamenting  that  ever  she  was  born. 

Then  wept  she  without  measure,  sobbing  and  sorrow-worn. 

She  thus  bespake  her  husband,  "  Give  up  that  chace  of  thine. 
I  dreamt  last  night  of  evil,  how  two  fierce  forest  swine 
Over  the  heath  pursued  thee  ;  the  flowers  turn'd  bloody  red. 
I  cannot  help  thus  weeping ;  I'm  chill'd  with  mortal  dread. 

I  fear  some  secret  treason,  and  cannot  lose  thee  hence, 
Lest  malice  should  be  borne  thee  from  misconceiv'd  offence. 
Stay,  my  beloved  Siegfried,  take  not  my  words  amiss. 
'T  is  the  true  love  I  bear  thee  that  bids  me  counsel  this." 

"  Back  shall  I  be  shortly,  my  own  beloved  mate. 
Not  a  soul  in  Rhineland  know  I,  who  bears  me  hate. 
I'm  well  with  all  thy  kinsmen ;  they're  all  my  firm  allies ; 
Nor  have  I  from  any  e'er  deserv'd  otherwise." 

"  Nay  !  do  not,  dearest  Siegfried !  't  is  e'en  thy  death  I  dread. 
Last  night  I  dreamt,  two  mountains  fell  thundering  on  thy  head, 
And  I  no  more  beheld  thee ;  if  thou  from  me  wilt  go, 
My  heart  will  sure  be  breaking  with  bitterness  of  woe." 

Round  her  peerless  body  his  clasping  arms  he  threw  ; 
Lovingly  he  kiss'd  her,  that  faithful  wife  and  true ; 
Then  took  his  leave,  and  parted  ; — in  a  moment  all  was  o'er — 
Living,  alas  poor  lady !  she  saw  him  never  more. 

In  the  chase  Siegfried  prefers  to  hunt  with  a  single  limehound.    But  he 
achieves  most  marvelous  feats  of  skill  and  strength. 

Stanzas  962-971. 

All,  that  the  limehound  started,  anon  with  mighty  hand 
Were  slain  by  noble  Siegfried  the  chief  of  Netherland. 


GERMAN  LITERATURE.  89 

No  beast  could  there  outrun  him,  so  swift  his  steed  could  race ; 
He  won  from  all  high  praises  for  mastery  in  the  chace. 

Whatever  he  attempted,  he  went  the  best  before. 
The  first  beast  he  encounter' d  was  a  fierce  half-bred  boar. 
Him  with  a  mighty  death-stroke  he  stretch'd  upon  the  ground ; 
Just  after  in  a  thicket  a  lion  huge  he  found. 

Him  the  limehound  started ;  his  bow  Sir  Siegfried  drew  ; 
With  a  keen-headed  arrow  he  shot  the  lion  through. 
But  three  faint  bounds  thereafter  the  dying  monster  made. 
His  wond'ring  fellow-huntsmen  thanks  to  Sir  Siegfried  paid. 

Then  one  upon  another  a  buffalo,  an  elk 
He  slew,  four  strong  ureoxen,  and  last  a  savage  sheik. 
No  beast,  how  swift  soever,  could  leave  his  steed  behind ; 
Scarcely  their  speed  could  profit  the  flying  hart  or  hind. 

They  heard  then  all  about  them,  throughout  those  forest  grounds, 
Such  shouting  and  such  baying  of  huntsmen  and  of  hounds, 
That  hill  and  wood  re-echoed  with  the  wild  uproar. 
Th'  attendants  had  uncoupled  four  and  twenty  dogs  or  more. 

Then  full  many  a  monster  was  doom'd  his  last  to  groan. 
They  thought  with  glad  expectance  to  challenge  for  their  own 
The  praise  for  the  best  hunting ;  but  lower  sunk  their  pride, 
When  to  the  tryst-fire  shortly  they  saw  Sir  Siegfried  ride. 

The  hunting  now  was  over  for  the  most  part  at  least ; 
Game  was  brought  in  plenty  and  skins  of  many  a  beast 
To  the  place  of  meeting,  and  laid  the  hearth  before. 
Ah !  to  the  busy  kitchen  what  full  supplies  they  bore ! 


The  chase  being  done,  the  hunters  are  summoned  to  a  feast  in  a  neighbor- 
ing glade.  Here,  though  they  are  served  with  a  profusion  of  sump- 
tuous viands,  there  is,  according  to  Hagen's  plot,  no  wine  to  drink. 
When,  toward  the  end  of  the  meal  Siegfried  is  tormented  with  thirst, 
Hagen  tells  him  of  a  cool  runnel  near  by  under  a  linden,  and  proposes 
that  he  and  Gunther  and  Siegfried  shall  try  a  race  to  this  brook.  Sieg- 
fried gaily  consents,  and  boasts  that  he  will  run  with  all  his  clothing 
and  his  weapons  upon  him. 

Stanzas  1005-1029. 

King  Gunther  and  Sir  Hagan  to  strip  were  nothing  slow  ; 
Both  for  the  race  stood  ready  in  shirts  as  white  as  snow. 


90  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Long  bounds,  like  two  wild  panthers  o'er  the  grass  they  took, 
But  seen  was  noble  Siegfried  before  them  at  the  brook. 

Whate'er  he  did,  the  warrior  high  o'er  his  fellows  soar'd. 
Now  laid  he  down  his  quiver,  and  quick  ungirt  his  sword. 
Against  the  spreading  linden  he  lean'd  his  mighty  spear. 
So  by  the  brook  stood  waiting  the  chief  without  a  peer. 

In  every  lofty  virtue  none  with  Sir  Siegfried  vied. 

Down  he  laid  his  buckler  by  the  water's  side. 

For  all  the  thirst  that  parch' d  him,  one  drop  he  never  drank 

Till  the  king  had  finished  ;  he  had  full  evil  thank. 

Cool  was  the  little  runnel,  and  sparkled  clear  as  glass. 
O'er  the  rill  king  Gunther  knelt  down  upon  the  grass. 
When  he  his  draught  had  taken,  he  rose  and  stepp'd  aside. 
Full  fain  alike  would  Siegfried  his  thirst  have  satisfied. 

Dear  paid  he  for  his  courtesy ;  his  bow,  his  matchless  blade, 
His  weapons  all,  Sir  Hagan  far  from  their  lord  convey' d, 
Then  back  sprung  to  the  linden  to  seize  his  ashen  spear, 
And  to  find  out  the  token  survey 'd  his  vesture  near ; 

Then,  as  to  drink  Sir  Siegfried  down  kneeling  there  he  found, 
He  pierc'd  him  through  the  croslet,  that  sudden  from  the  wound 
Forth  the  life-blood  spouted  e'en  o'er  his  murderer's  weed. 
Never  more  will  warrior  dare  so  foul  a  deed. 

Between  his  shoulders  sticking  he  left  the  deadly  spear. 
Never  before  Sir  Hagan  so  fled  for  ghastly  fear, 
As  from  the  matchless  champion  whom  he  had  butcher'd  there. 
Soon  as  was  Sir  Siegfried  of  the  mortal  wound  aware, 

Tip  he  from  the  runnel  started,  as  he  were  wood 

Out  from  betwixt  his  shoulders  his  own  hugh  boar-spear  stood. 

He  thought  to  find  his  quiver  or  his  broadsword  true. 

The  traitor  for  his  treason  had  then  receiv'd  his  due. 

But,  ah  !  the  deadly -wounded  nor  sword  nor  quiver  found ; 
His  shield  alone  beside  him  lay  there  upon  the  ground. 
This  from  the  bank  he  lifted  and  straight  at  Hagan  ran ; 
Him  could  not  then  by  fleetness  escape  king  Gunther's  man. 

E'en  to  the  death  though  wounded,  he  hurl'd  it  with  such  power, 
That  the  whirling  buckler  scatter' d  wide  a  shower 
Of  the  most  precious  jewels,  then  straight  in  shivers  broke. 
Full  gladly  had  the  warrior  ta'en  vengeance  with  that  stroke. 


GERMAN  LITERATURE.  91 

E'en  as  it  was,  his  manhood  fierce  Hagan  level'd  low. 
Loud,  all  around,  the  meadow  rang  with  the  wondrous  blow. 
Had  he  in  hand  good  Balmung,  the  murderer  he  had  slain. 
His  wound  was  sore  upon  him  ;  he  writh'd  in  mortal  pain ; 

His  lively  colour  faded  ;  a  cloud  came  o'er  his  sight : 
He  could  stand  no  longer ;  melted  all  his  might ; 
In  his  paling  visage  the  mark  of  death  he  bore. 
Soon  many  a  lovely  lady  sorrow'd  for  him  sore. 

So  the  lord  of  Kriemhild  among  the  flowerets  fell. 
From  the  wound  fresh  gushing  his  heart's  blood  fast  did  well. 
Then  thus  amidst  his  tortures,  e'en  with  his  failing  breath, 
The  false  friends  he  upbraided  who  had  contriv'd  his  death. 

Thus  spake  the  deadly- wounded,  "  Ay !  cowards  false  as  hell ! 
To  you  I  still  was  faithful ;  I  serv'd  you  long  and  well ; — 
But  what  boots  all? — for  guerdon  treason  and  death  I've  won. 
By  your  friends,  vile  traitors !  foully  have  you  done. 

Whoever  shall  hereafter  from  your  loins  be  born, 

Shall  take  from  such  vile  fathers  a  heritage  of  scorn. 

On  me  you  have  wreak' d  malice  where  gratitude  was  due. 

With  shame  shall  you  be  banish 'd  by  all  good  knights  and  true." 

Thither  ran  all  the  warriors  where  in  his  blood  he  lay. 
To  many  of  that  party  sure  't  was  a  joyless  day. 
Whoe'er  were  true  and  faithful,  they  sorrow'd  for  his  fall. 
So  much  the  peerless  champion  had  merited  of  all. 

With  them  the  false  king  Gunther  bewept  his  timeless  end. 
Then  spake  the  deadly- wounded ;  "  little  it  boots  your  friend 
Yourself  to  plot  his  murder,  and  then  the  deed  deplore. 
Such  is  a  shameful  sorrow ;  better  at  once  't  were  o'er." 

Then  spake  the  low' ring  Hagan,  "  I  know  not  why  you  moan. 
Our  cares  all  and  suspicions  are  now  for  ever  flown. 
Who  now  are  left,  against  us  who'll  dare  to  make  defence  ? 
Well's  me,  for  all  this  weeping,  that  I  have  rid  him  hence." 

"  Small  cause  hast  thou,"  said  Siegfried,  "  to  glory  in  my  fate. 
Had  I  ween'd  thy  friendship  cloak' d  such  murderous  hate, 
From  such  as  thou  full  lightly  could  I  have  kept  my  life. 
Now  grieve  I  but  for  Kriemhild,  my  dear,  my  widow' d  wife. 

Then  further  spake  the  dying,  and  speaking  sigh'd  full  deep, 


92  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

"  Oh  king!  if  thou  a  promise  with  any  one  wilt  keep, 
Let  me  in  this  last  moment  thy  grace  and  favour  find 
For  my  dear  love  and  lady,  the  wife  I  leave  behind. 

Remember,  she's  thy  sister,  yield  her  a  sister's  right, 
Guard  her  with  faith  and  honour,  as  thou'rt  a  king  and  knight. 
My  father  and  my  followers  for  me  they  long  must  wait. 
Comrade  ne'er  found  from  comrade  so  sorrowful  a  fate." 

In  his  mortal  anguish  he  writh'd  him  to  and  fro, 

And  then  said,  deadly  groaning,  "  this  foul  and  murderous  blow 

Deep  will  ye  rue  hereafter ;  this  for  sure  truth  retain, 

That  in  slaying  Siegfried  you  yourselves  have  slain." 

With  blood  were  all  bedabbled  the  flowerets  of  the  field. 
Some  time  with  death  he  struggled,  as  though  he  scorn'd  to  yield 
E'en  to  the  foe,  whose  weapon  strikes  down  the  loftiest  head. 
At  last  prone  in  the  meadow  lay  mighty  Siegfried  dead. 

They  carry  the  body  of  Siegfried  back  to  Worms,  and  lay  it  at  Kriemhild's 
door.  Here  she  finds  it  next  morning.  She  has  it  carried  to  the  church 
and  stands  by  it  while  the  heroes  come  to  view  it,  expecting  to  discover 
the  murderer. 

KRIEMHILD'S  TEST. 
Stanzas  1071-1078. 

And  now  the  night  was  over ;  forth  peep'd  the  morning  fair ; 
Straight  bad  the  noble  lady  thence  to  the  minster  bear 
The  matchless  champion  Siegfried,  her  husband  lov'd  so  dear. 
All  her  friends  close  follow' d  with  many  a  sigh  and  tear. 

"When  they  the  minster  enter' d,  how  many  a  bell  was  rung ! 
How  many  a  priest  on  all  sides  the  mournful  requiem  sung  ! 
Then  thither  with  his  meiny  came  Dancrat's  haughty  son, 
And  thither  too  grim  Hagan ;  it  had  been  better  left  undone. 

Then  spoke  the  king,  "  dear  sister,  woe  worth  this  loss  of  thine ! 
Alas  that  such  misfortune  has  happ'd  to  me  and  mine ! 
For  sure  the  death  of  Siegfried  we  ever  both  must  rue." 
"  Nay,"  said  the  mournful  lady,  "  so  without  cause  you  do, 

For  if  you  really  rued  it,  never  had  it  been. 

I  know,  you  have  your  sister  forgotten  quite  and  clean, 

So  I  and  my  beloved  Avere  parted  as  you  see. 

Good  God !  would  he  had  granted  the  stroke  had  fall'u  on  me !  " 

Firmly  they  made  denial ;  Ivriemhild  at  once  replied, 


GERM  A  X  LITER  A  TUBE.  93 

"  Whoe'er  in  this  is  guiltless,  let  him  this  proof  abide. 
In  sight  of  all  the  people  let  him  approach  the  bier, 
And  so  to  each  beholder  shall  the  plain  truth  appear." 

It  is  a  mighty  marvel,  which  oft  e'en  now  we  spy, 

That  when  the  blood-stain' d  murderer  comes  to  the  murder'd 

nigh, 

The  wounds  break  out  a -bleeding ;  then  too  the  same  befell, 
And  thus  could  each  beholder  the  guilt  of  Hagan  tell. 

The  wounds  at  once  burst  streaming  fast  as  they  did  before ; 
Those,  who  then  sorrow'd  deeply,  now  yet  lamented  more. 
Then  outspake  king  Gunther,  "  I  give  you  here  to  know, 
He  was  slain  by  robbers';  Hagan  struck  ne'er  a  blow." 

"  Ay !  well  know  I  those  robbers,"  his  widow'd  sister  said ; 

"  By  the  hands  of  his  true  comrades  may  God  revenge  the  dead  ! 

False  Gunther,  and  false  Hagan!  't  was  you,  your  friend  that 
slew." 

Thereat  the  knights  of  Siegfried  grip'd  to  their  swords  anew. 

After  the  burial  of  Siegfried,  Kriemhild  decides  to  remain  at  the  court  of 
Gunther,  in  the  care  of  her  brothers.  Thither  is  brought  the  enormous 
treasures  of  the  Niebelungen,  which  Siegfried  had  won,  and  of  which  he 
had  been  the  guardian,  and  which  now  fell  to  Kriemhild.  The  crafty 
Hagen  gains  possession  of  this  horde,  and  conceals  it  by  sinking  it  in 
the  Rhine,  hoping  some  day  to  recover  and  enjoy  it.  For  thirteen 
years  Kriemhild  remains  at  the  court  of  her  brother,  brooding  over  her 
wrongs  and  meditating  revenge. 

The  second  part  of  the  poem  begins  by  telling  how  Etzel,  king  of  the  Huns, 
proposed  for  the  hand  of  the  widowed  Kriemhild,  and  how  she  finally, 
hoping  to  use  him  in  her  plan  of  vengeance,  consents  to  a  marriage 
with  him  and  goes  away  with  him  into  his  land.  Here  for  many  years 
she  lives  the  beloved  queen  of  the  Huns.  But  her  purpose  of  ven- 
geance never  falters,  and  at  last  she  persuades  Etzel  to  invite  her 
brothers  to  his  court  on  a  visit.  Against  many  forebodings  and  warnings 
they  come,  flagen  with  them.  After  numerous  interesting  episodes 
upon  the  journey,  they  arrive  at  Etzel's  court  and  are  handsomely 
welcomed.  But  the  inevitable  quarrel  soon  breaks  out  and  a  desperate 
fight  begins.  After  a  most  desperate  and  bloody  struggle,  Gunther, 
Hagen,  and  a  few  followers  are  shut  up  in  a  hall.  To  this  Kriembild 
sets  fire. 

THE  BURNING  OF  THE  HALL. 
Stanzas  2186-2194. 

"With  that,  the  wife  of  Etzel  bad  set  the  hall  on  fire. 
How  sore  then  were  they  tortur'd  in  burning  anguish  dire! 


94  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

At  once,  as  the  wind  freshen' d,  the  house  was  in  a  glow. 
Never,  I  ween,  were  mortals  in  such  extremes  of  woe. 

"  We  all  are  lost  together,"  each  to  his  neighbour  cried, 
"  It  had  been  far  better  we  had  in  battle  died. 

Now  God  have  mercy  on  us !  woe  for  this  fiery  pain ! 

Ah !  what  a  monstrous  vengeance  the  bloody  queen  has  ta'en  I  " 

Then  faintly  said  another,  "  needs  must  we  here  fall  dead  ; 
What  boots  us  now  the  greeting,  to  us  by  Etzel  sped  ? 
Ah  me !  I'm  so  tormented  by  thirst  from  burning  heat, 
That  in  this  horrid  anguish  my  life  must  quickly  fleet." 

Thereat  outspake  Sir  Hagan,  the  noble  knight  and  good, 
"  Let  each,  by  thirst  tormented,  take  here  a  draught  of  blood. 
In  such  a  heat,  believe  me,  't  is  better  far  than  wine. 
Nought's  for  the  time  so  fitting ;  such  counsel,  friends,  is  mine." 

With  that  straight  went  a  Avarrior,  where  a  warm  corpse   he 

found. 

On  the  dead  down  knelt  he  ;  his  helmet  he  unbound  ; 
Then  greedily  began  he  to  drink  the  flowing  blood. 
However  unaccustom'd,  it  seem'd  him  passing  good. 

"  Now  God  requite  thee,  Hagan,"  the  weary  warrior  cried, 
"  For  such  refreshing  beverage  by  your  advice  supplied. 

It  has  been  my  lot  but  seldom  to  drink  of  better  wine. 

For  life  am  I  thy  servant  for  this  fair  hint  of  thine." 

When  th'   others   heird   and   witness'd    with    that    delight  he 

quaff' d, 

Yet  many  more  among  them  drank  too  the  bloody  draught. 
It  strung  again  their  sinews,  and  failing  strength  renew'd. 
This  in  her  lover's  person  many  a  fair  lady  rued. 

Into  the  hall  upon  them  the  fire-flakes  thickly  fell ; 
These  with  their  shields  they  warded  warily  and  well. 
With  smoke  and  heat  together  they  were  tormented  sore. 
Never,  I  ween,  good  warriors  such  burning  anguish  bore. 

Through  smoke  and  flame  cried  Hagan,  "  stand  close  against  the 

wall ; 

Let  not  the  burning  ashes  on  your  helm-laces  fall. 
Into  the  blood  yet  deeper  tread  every  fiery  flake. 
In  sooth,  this  feast  of  Kriemhild's  is  ghastly  merry-make." 


GERM  A  N  LITER  A  TURE.  95 

One  by  one  the  champions  fell,  until  only  Hagen  and  Gunther,  exhausted 
with  fighting,  are  left  to  contend  with  Dietrich,  the  most  valiant  of 
Etzel's  vassals.  The  conclusion  of  the  poem  tells  of  the  fate  of  Hagen, 
Gunther,  and  Kriemhild. 

THE  FALL  OF  THE  NIEBELUNGEN. 
Stanzas  21^8-2^59. 

"Well  knew  the  noble  Dietrich  how  fierce  and  fell  a  knight 
Was  standing  now  against  him  ;  so  warily  the  fight 
'Gainst  those  tempestuous  swordstrokes  wag'd  the  good  lord  of 

Bern. 
The  strength  and  skill  of  Hagan  he  had  not  now  to  learn. 

He  fear'd,  too,  mighty  Balmung  as  down  it  swept  amain  ; 
Yet  at  times  Sir  Dietrich  with  craft  would  strike  again, 
Till  that  to  sink  before  him  he  brought  his  foeman  strong ; 
A  fearful  wound  he  gave  him  that  was  both  deep  and  long. 

Sir  Dietrich  then  bethought  him,  "  thou'rt  faint  and  ill  bestead ; 

I  should  win  little  worship,  were  I  to  strike  thee  dead. 

I'll  make  a  different  trial,  if  thou  can'st  now  be  won 

By  main  force  for  a  pris'ner."    With  wary  heed  't  was  done. 

Down  he  threw  his  buckler ;  wondrous  was  his  might ; 
He  his  arms  resistless  threw  round  Trony's  knight. 
So  was  by  his  stronger  the  man  of  strength  subdued. 
Thereat  the  noble  Gunther  remain'd  in  mournful  mood. 

His  vanquish'd  foe  Sir  Dietrich  bound  in  a  mighty  band, 
And  led  him  thence  to  Kriemhild,  and  gave  into  her  hand 
The  best  and  boldest  champion  that  broadsword  ever  bore. 
She  after  all  her  anguish  felt  comfort  all  the  more. 

For  joy  the  queen  inclin'd  her  before  the  welcome  guest ; 
"  Sir  knight !  in  mind  and  body  heaven  keep  thee  ever  blest ! 
By  thee  all  my  long  sorrows  are  shut  up  in  delight. 
Ever,  if  death  prevent  not,  thy  service  I'll  requite." 

"  Fair  and  noble  Kriemhild,"  thus  Sir  Dietrich  spake, 
"  Spare  this  captive  warrior,  who  full  amends  will  make 

For  all  his  past  transgressions ;  him  here  in  bonds  you  see  ; 

Revenge  not  on  the  fetter'd  th'  offences  of  the  free." 

With  that  she  had  Sir  Hagan  to  durance  led  away, 
Where  no  one  could  behold  him,  where  under  lock  he  lay. 


96  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Meanwhile  the  fierce  king  Gunther  shouted  loud  and  strong, 
"  Whither  is  gone  the  Berner  ?  he  hath  done  me  grievous  wrong." 

Straight,  at  the  call,  to  meet  him  Sir  Dietrich  swiftly  went. 
Huge  was  the  strength  of  Gunther,  and  deadly  his  intent. 
There  he  no  longer  dallied ;  from  th'  hall  he  forward  ran ; 
Sword  clash'd  with  sword  together,  as  man  confronted  man. 

Howe'er  renown'd  was  Dietrich,  and  train'd  in  combat  well, 
Yet  Gunther  fought  against  him  so  furious  and  so  fell, 
And  bore  him  hate  so  deadly,  now  friendless  left  and  lone, 
It  seemed  past  all  conceiving,  how  Dietrich  held  his  own. 

Both  were  of  mighty  puissance,  and  neither  yielded  ground ; 
Palace  and  airy  turret  rung  with  their  strokes  around, 
As  their  swift  swords  descending  their  temper' d  helmets  hew'd. 
Well  there  the  proud  king  Gunther  display 'd  his  manly  mood. 

Yet  him  subdued  the  Berner,  as  Hagan  erst  befell ; 

Seen  was  the  blood  of  the  warrior  forth  through  his  mail  to  well 

Beneath  the  fatal  weapon  that  Dietrich  bore  in  fight. 

Tir'd  as  he  was,  still  Gunther  had  kept  him  like  a  knight. 

So  now  at  length  the  champion  was  bound  by  Dietrich  there, 

How  ill  soe'er  it  fitteth  a  king  such  bonds  to  bear. 

Gunther  and  his  fierce  liegeman  if  he  had  left  unbound, 

He  ween'd  they'd  deal  destruction  on  all,  whome'er  they  found. 

Then  by  the  hand  Sir  Dietrich  took  the  champion  good. 
And  in  his  bonds  thence  led  him  to  where  fair  Kriemhild  stood. 
She  cried,  "  thou'rt  •welcome,  Gunther,  hero  of  Burgundy." 
"  Now  God  requite  you,  Kriemhild,  if  you  speak  lovingly." 

Said  he,  "  I  much  should  thank  you,  and  justly,  sister  dear, 
If  true  affection  prompted  the  greeting  which  I  hear ; 
But,  knowing  your  fierce  temper,  proud  queen,  too  well  I  see, 
Such  greeting  is  a  mocking  of  Hagan  and  of  me." 

Then  said  the  noble  Berner,  "  high-descended  dame, 

Ne'er  have  been  brought  to  bondage  knights  of  such  peerless 

fame, 

As  those,  whom  you,  fair  lady,  now  from  your  servant  take. 
Grant  these  forlorn  and  friendless  fair  treatment  for  my  sake." 

She  said  she  fain  would  do  so  ;  then  from  the  captive  pair 
With  weeping  eyes  Sir  Dietrich  retir'd  and  left  them  there. 


GERM  A  N  LITER  A  T  URE.  97 

Straight  a  bloody  vengeance  wreak'd  Etzel's  furious  wife 
On  those  redoubted  champions,  and  both  bereft  of  life. 

In  dark  and  dismal  durance  them  kept  apart  the  queen, 

So  that  from  that  hour  neither  was  by  the  other  seen, 

Till  that  at  last  to  Hagan  her  brother's  head  she  bore. 

On  both  she  took  with  vengeance  as  tongue  ne'er  told  before. 

To  the  cell  of  Hagan  eagerly  she  went ; 
Thus  the  knight  bespake  she,  ah !  with  what  fell  intent ! 
"  Wilt  thou  but  return  me  what  thou  from  me  hast  ta'en, 
Back  thou  may'st  go  living  to  Burgundy  again." 

Then  spake  grim-visag'd  Hagan,  "  you  throw  away  your  prayer, 

High-descended  lady  ;  I  took  an  oath  whilere, 

That,  while  my  lords  were  living,  or  of  them  only  one, 

I'd  ne'er  point  out  the  treasure ;  thus  't  will  be  given  to  none." 

Well  knew  the  subtle  Hagan,  she  ne'er  would  let  him  'scape. 
Ah  !  when  did  ever  falsehood  assume  so  foul  a  shape  ? 
He  fear'd,  that,  soon  as  ever  the  queen  his  life  had  ta'en, 
She  then  would  send  her  brother  to  Rhineland  back  again. 

"  I'll  make  an  end,  and  quickly,"  Kriemhild  fiercely  spake. 
Her  brother's  life  straight  bad  she  in  his  dungeon  take. 
Off  his  head  was  smitten  ;  she  bore  it  by  the  hair 
To  the  lord  of  Trony  ;  such  sight  he  well  could  spare. 

A  while  in  gloomy  sorrow  he  view'd  his  master's  head ; 
Then  to  remorseless  Kriemhild  thus  the  warrior  said ; 
"  E'en  to  thy  wish  this  business  thou  to  an  end  hast  brought, 
To  such  an  end,  moreover,  as  Hagan  ever  thought. 

Now  the  brave  king  Gunther  of  Burgundy  is  dead ; 
Young  Giselher  and  eke  Gernot  alike  with  him  are  sped ; 
So  now,  where  lies  the  treasure,  none  knows  save  God  and  me, 
And  told  shall  it  be  never,  be  sure,  she-fiend !  to  thee." 

Said  she,  "  ill  hast  thou  quitted  a  debt  so  deadly  scor'd ; 
At  least  in  my  possession  I'll  keep  my  Siegfried's  sword. 
My  lord  and  lover  bore  it,  when  last  I  saw  him  go. 
For  him  woe  wrung  my  bosom,  that  pass'd  all  other  woe." 

Forth  from  the  sheath  she  drew  it ;  that  could  not  he  prevent ; 
At  once  to  slay  the  champion  was  Kriemhild's  stern  intent. 
High  with  both  hands  she  heav'd  it,  and  off  his  head  did  smite. 
That  was  seen  of  king  Etzel ;  he  shudder' d  at  the  sight. 


98  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

"  Ah !  "  cried  the  prince  impassion'd,  "  harrow  and  welaway ! 
That  the  hand  of  a  woman  the  noblest  knight  should  slay, 
That  e'er  struck  stroke  in  battle,  or  ever  buckler  bore  ! 
Albeit  I  was  his  foeman,  needs  must  I  sorrow  sore." 

Then  said  the  aged  Hildebrand,  "  let  not  her  boast  of  gain, 
In  that  by  her  contrivance  this  noble  chief  was  slain. 
Though  to  sore  strait  he  brought  me,  let  ruin  on  me  light, 
But  I  will  take  full  vengeance  for  Trony's  murdered  knight." 

Hildebrand  the  aged  fierce  on  Kriemhild  sprung : 
To  the  death  he  smote  her  as  his  sword  he  swung. 
Sudden  and  remorseless  he  his  wrath  did  wreak. 
What  could  then  avail  her  her  fearful  thrilling  shriek  ? 

There  now  the  dreary  corpses  stretch'd  all  around  were  seen ; 
There  lay,  hewn  in  pieces,  the  fair  and  noble  queen. 
Sir  Dietrich  and  king  Etzel,  their  tears  began  to  start ; 
For  kinsmen  and  for  vassals  each  sorrow'd  in  his  heart. 

The  mighty  and  the  noble  there  lay  together  dead  ; 
For  this  had  all  the  people  dole  and  drearihead. 
The  feast  of  royal  Etzel  was  thus  shut  up  in  woe. 
Pain  in  the  steps  of  Pleasure  treads  ever  here  below. 

'Tis  more  than  I  can  tell  you  what  afterwards  befell, 
Save  that  there  was  weeping  for  friends  belov'd  so  well ; 
Knights  and  squires,  dames  and  damsels,  were  seen  lamenting  all, 
So  here  I  end  my  story.    This  is  THE  NIBELUXGERS'  FALL. 

— Tr.  by  LITTSOM. 

ROMANCES. 

As  elsewhere  in  Europe,  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centu- 
ries in  Germany  produced  numberless  romances.  These  may 
be  classed  under  (1)  Romances  of  Arthur,  (2)  Romances  of  the 
Holy  Graal,  (3)  Romances  of  Antiquity,  and  (4)  Romances  of 
Love  and  Chivalry.  The  chief  poets  of  romances  were  Hart- 
mann  von  Aue,  Gottfried  von  Strassburg,  and  Wolfram  von 
Eschenbach. 

A  good  example  of  the  romance  of  love  is  Der  Arme  Hein- 
rich  of  Hartmann  von  Aue.  "Poor  Henry"  to  quote  Scherer, 
"  is  a  kind  of  Job,  a  man  of  noble  birth  ;  rich,  handsome,  and 


GERMAN  LITERATURE.  99 

beloved,  who  is  suddenly  visited  by  God  with  the  terrible 
affliction  of  leprosy,  and  who  can  be  cured  only  by  the  life- 
blood  of  a  young  maiden  who  is  willing  to  die  for  him.  The 
daughter  of  a  peasant,  to  whose  house  he  has  retired  in  his 
despair,  resolves  to  sacrifice  her  life  for  him.  Heinrich 
accepts  her  offer,  and  the  knife  to  kill  her  is  already  whetted, 
when  a  better  feeling  arises  in.  his  breast,  and  he  refuses  to  take 
upon  himself  the  guilt  of  her  death,  resolving  to  resign  him- 
self to  the  will  of  God.  This  resignation  saves  him ;  he  re- 
covers and  marries  the  maiden."  Our  extracts  are  from  the 
first  and  last  of  the  poem. 

HENRY  THE  LEPER. 

LI.  1-131. — Once  on  a  time,  rhymeth  the  rhyme, 
In  Swabia  land  once  on  a  time, 
There  was  a  nobleman  sojourneying, 
Unto  whose  nobleness  everything 
Of  virtue  and  high-hearted  excellence 
Worthy  his  line  and  his  high  pretense 
With  plentiful  measure  was  meted  out : 
The  land  rejoiced  iu  him  round  about. 
He  was  like  a  prince  in  his  governing — 
In  his  wealth  he  was  like  a  king  ; 
But  most  of  all  by  the  fame  far-flown 
Of  his  great  knightliness  was  he  known, 
North  and  south,  upon  land  and  sea. 
By  his  name  he  was  Henry  of  the  Lea. 
All  things  whereby  the  truth  grew  dim 
Were  held  as  hateful  foes  with  him : 
By  solemn  oath  was  he  bounden  fast 
To  shun  them  while  his  life  should  last. 
In  honour  all  his  days  went  by : 
Therefore  his  soul  might  look  up  high 
To  honorable  authority. 

A  paragon  of  all  graciousness, 
A  blossoming  branch  of  youthfulness, 
A  looking-glass  to  the  world  around, 
A  stainless  and  priceless  diamond, 
Of  gallant  'haviour  a  beautiful  wreath, 
A  home  when  the  tyrant  menaceth, 


100  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

A  buckler  to  the  breast  of  his  friend, 

And  courteous  without  measure  or  end ; 

Whose  deeds  of  arms  'twere  long  to  tell ; 

Of  precious  wisdom  a  limpid  well, 

A  singer  of  ladies  every  one, 

And  very  lordly  to  look  upon 

In  feature  and  hearing  and  countenance : 

Say,  failed  he  in  anything,  perchance, 

The  summit  of  all  glory  to  gain 

And  the  lasting  honour  of  all  men. 

Alack !  the  soul  that  was  up  so  high 

Dropped  down  into  pitiful  misery ; 

The  lofty  courage  was  stricken  low, 

The  steady  triumph  stumbled  in  woe, 

And  the  world-joy  was  hidden  in  the  dust, 

Even  as  all  such  shall  be  and  must. 

He  whose  life  in  the  senses  centreth 

Is  already  in  the  shades  of  death. 

The  joys,  called  great,  of  this  under-state 

Burn  up  the  bosom  early  and  late ; 

And  their  shining  is  altogether  vain, 

For  it  bringeth  anguish  and  trouble  and  pain, 

The  torch  that  flames  for  men  to  see 

And  wasteth  to  ashes  inwardly 

Is  verily  but  an  imaging 

Of  man's  own  life,  the  piteous  thing. 

The  whole  is  brittleness  and  mishap : 

We  sit  and  dally  in  Fortune's  lap 

Till  tears  break  in  our  smiles  betwixt, 

And  the  shallow  honey-draught  be  mix'd 

With  sorrow's  wormwood  fathom-deep. 

Oh !  rest  not  therefore,  man,  nor  sleep : 

In  the  blossoming  of  thy  flower-crown 

A  sword  is  raised  to  smite  thee  down. 

It  was  thus  with  Earl  Henry,  upon  whom  for  his  pride  God  sent  a  leprosy, 
as  He  did  upon  Job.    But  he  did  not  bear  his  affliction  as  did  Job. 

Its  duteousness  his  heart  forgot ; 

His  pride  waxed  hard,  and  kept  its  place, 

But  the  glory  departed  from  his  face, 

And  that  which  was  his  strength,  grew  weak. 

The  hand  that  smote  him  on  the  cheek 

Was  all  too  heavy.     It  was  night, 


GERM  A  X  LITER  A  T  URE.  101 

Xow,  and  his  sun  withdrew  its  light. 

To  the  pride  of  his  uplifted  thought 

Much  woe  the  weary  knowledge  brought 

That  the  pleasant  way  his  feet  did  wend 

Was  all  passed  o'er  and  had  an  end. 

The  day  wherein  his  years  had  begun 

Went  in  his  mouth  with  a  malison. 

As  the  ill  grew  stronger  and  more  strong, — 

There  was  but  hope  bore  him  along ; 

Even  yet  to  hope  he  was  full  fain 

That  gold  might  help  him  back  again 

Thither  whence  God  had  cast  him  out. 

Ah !  weak  to  strive  and  little  stout 

'Gainst  Heaven  the  strength  that  he  possessed. 

North  and  south  and  east  and  west, 

Far  and  wide  from  every  side, 

Mediciners  well  proved  and  tried 

Came  to  him  at  the  voice  of  his  woe ; 

But,  mused  and  pondered  they  ever  so, 

They  could  but  say,  for  all  their  care, 

That  he  must  be  content  to  bear 

The  burthen  of  the  anger  of  God ; 

For  him  there  was  no  other  road. 

Already  was  his  heart  nigh  down 

When  yet  to  him  one  chance  was  shown ; 

For  in  Salerno  dwelt,  folk  said, 

A  leach  who  still  might  lend  him  aid, 

Albeit  unto  his  body's  cure, 

All  such  had  been  as  nought  before. 

Earl  Henry  visits  the  leach  in  Salerno  whom  he  implores  to  tell  him 
the  means  by  which  he  may  be  healed. 

Quoth  the  leach,  "  Then  know  them  what  they  are  ; 

Yet  still  all  hope  must  stand  afar. 

Truly  if  the  cure  for  your  care 

Might  be  gotten  anyway  anywhere, 

Did  it  hide  in  the  furthest  parts  of  earth, 

This-wise  I  had  not  sent  you  forth. 

But  all  my  knowledge  hath  none  avail ; 

There  is  but  one  thing  would  not  fail : 

An  innocent  virgin  for  to  find, 

Chaste,  and  modest,  and  pure  in  mind, 

Who  to  save  you  from  death  might  choose 

Her  own  young  body's  life  to  lose ; 


102  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

.     The  heart's  blood  of  the  excellent  maid — 
That  and  nought  else  can  be  your  aid. 
But  there  is  none  will  be  won  thereby 
For  the  love  of  another's  life  to  die. 

"  'T  was  then  poor  Henry  knew  indeed 
That  from  his  ill  he  might  not  be  freed, 
Sith  that  no  woman  he  might  win 
Of  her  own  will  to  act  herein. 
Thus  got  he  but  an  ill  return 
For  the  journey  he  made  unto  Salerne, 
And  the  hope  he  had  upon  that  day 
Was  snatched  from  him  and  rent  away. 
Homeward  he  hied  him  back :  full  fain 
With  limbs  in  the  dust  he  would  have  lain. 
Of  his  substance — lands  and  riches  both— 
He  rid  himself;  even  as  one  doth 
Who  the  breath  of  the  last  life  of  his  hope 
Once  and  forever  hath  rendered  up. 
To  his  friends  he  gave  and  to  the  poor, 
Unto  God  praying  evermore 
The  spirit  that  was  in  him  to  save, 
And  make  his  bed  soft  in  the  grave. 
What  still  remained  aside  he  set 
For  Holy  Church's  benefit. 
Of  all  that  heretofore  was  his 
Nought  held  he  for  himself,  I  wis, 
Save  one  small  house  with  byre  and  field  : 
There  from  the  world  he  lived  concealed,— 
There  lived  he,  and  awaited  Death, 
Who  being  awaited,  lingereth. 
Pity  and  ruth  his  troubles  found 
Alway  through  all  the  country  round. 
Who  heard  him  named,  had  sorrow  deep 
And  for  his  piteous  sake  would  weep. 

The  poor  man  who  tilled  Earl  Henry's  field  had  a  daughter,  a  sweet  and 
tender  maiden  who,  out  of  love  for  Henry  and  a  heart  of  Christ-like 
pity,  at  last  offers  herself  to  die  for  him.  After  a  struggle  Henry  accepts 
the  sacrifice.  But  when  he  knows  it  is  about  to  be  made  his  heart 
rises  against  It  and  he  refuses  to  permit  it.  At  this  the  maiden  is 
much  grieved.  She  takes  it  as  a  token  that  she  is  not  pure  enough  to  be 
offered  for  him.  She  prays  for  a  sign  that  she  may  hope  to  become 
wholly  cleansed.  In  answer  to  this  prayer  Earl  Henry  is  in  one  ii!ght 
cleansed  of  the  leprosy.  He  then  Joyfully  takes  the  maiden  for  his 
bride  and  leads  her  before  his  kinsman  and  nobles  for  their  consent. 


GERMAN  LITERATURE.  103 

"  Then,"  quoth  the  Earl,  "  hearken  me  this. 
The  damozel  who  standeth  here, — 
And  whom  I  embrace,  being  most  dear, — 
She  it  is  unto  whom  I  owe 
The  grace  it  hath  pleased  God  to  bestow. 
He  saw  the  simple  spirited 
Earnestness  of  the  holy  maid, 
And  even  in  guerdon  of  her  truth 
Gave  me  back  the  joys  of  my  youth, 
Which  seemed  to  be  lost  beyond  all  doubt, 
And  therefore  I  have  chosen  her  out 
To  wed  with  me  knowing  her  free. 
I  think  that  God  will  let  this  be. 
Lo !  I  enjoin  ye,  with  God's  will 
That  this  my  longing  ye  fulfill. 
I  pray  ye  all  have  but  one  voice 
And  let  your  choice  go  with  my  choice." 

Then  the  cries  ceased,  and  the  counter-cries, 
And  all  the  battle  of  advice, 
And  every  lord,  being  content 
With  Henry's  choice,  granted  assent. 

Then  the  priests  came  to  bind  as  one 
Two  lives  in  bridal  unison, 
Into  his  hand  they  folded  hers, 
Xot  to  be  loosed  in  coming  years, 
And  uttered  between  man  and  wife 
God's  blessing  on  the  road  of  this  life. 
Many  a  bright  and  pleasant  day 
The  twain  pursued  their  steadfast  way, 
Till  hand  in  hand,  at  length  they  trod 
Upward  to  the  kingdom  of  God. 
Even  as  it  was  with  them,  even  thus, 
And  quickly,  it  must  be  with  us. 
To  such  reward  as  theirs  was  then, 
God  help  us  in  His  hour.    Amen. 

— Tr.  by  ROSSETTI. 

THE  MIXXESIXGERS. 

In  the  twelfth  century,  Germany  had  a  remarkable  outburst 
of  lyric  poetry,  chiefly  songs  of  love.  The  influence  of  the 
crusades,  the  spread  of  the  romances  of  Arthur  and  Charle- 


104  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

magne  roused  over  all  Germany  the  spirit  of  poetry.  The 
poets  of  this  new  movement  are  called  Minnesingers.  It  is 
interesting  to  notice  that  the  same  poets  who  wrote  these  love 
lyrics,  wrote  also  long  romances  of  chivalry  ;  the  greatest 
names  among  them  being  Hartmann  von  Aue,  Wolfram  von 
Eschenbach,  Heinrich  von  Ofterdingen,  Gottfried  von  Strass- 
burg,  and  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide.  They  were  of  all 
ranks,  but  chiefly  belonged  to  the  upper  classes — knights, 
squires,  princes,  and  even  kings  being  numbered  among  them. 
Their  extraordinarily  large  number  may  be  gathered  from  the 
fact  that  from  the  twelfth  century  alone  the  names  of  one 
hundred  and  sixty  Minnesingers  have  come  down  to  us. 
Their  names  and  their  songs  have  been  handed  down  largely 
by  tradition,  since  the  mass  of  them  could  neither  read  nor 
write,  and  for  a  century  or  more  their  work  was  preserved 
orally. 

The  subject  of  these  songs  was  almost  always  love — gener- 
ally love  of  a  sweetheart ;  sometimes  of  the  simpler  aspects  of 
nature,  sometimes  the  love  of  the  Virgin.  Besides  this  they 
wrote  also  many  didactic,  religious,  and  patriotic  songs.  The 
rhythmical  and  metrical  structure  of  their  verse  was  very 
complicated  and  generally  very  skillful,  sometimes,  however, 
running  into  eccentricities  and  barren  technicalities.  The 
Minnesinger  generally  composed  the  music  of  his  song  at 
the  same  time  with  the  verse. 

The  bloom  of  the  Minnesong  passed  away  in  the  latter  half  of 
the  thirteenth  century.  The  songs  became  theological,  didactic, 
political,  more  and  more  forced  and  complicated  in  form,  more 
and  more  filled  with  quaint  new  figures,  far-fetched  conceits, 
and  obscure  allusions.  Then  gradually  developed  the  school 
of  the  Meistersingers,  who  formed  themselves  into  a  guild  of 
poets  to  which  only  those  were  admitted  who  passed  examina- 
tion upon  the  difficult  technical  rules  that  had  been  built  up. 


GERMAN  LITERATURE.  105 

The  poetry  of  the  Meistersingers  was,  for  the  most  part, 
tedious  and  artificial.  The  poets  were  not  nobles  and  soldiers, 
but  burghers  and  artisans.  They  reached  their  highest  de- 
velopment in  the  sixteenth  century.  The  most  famous  of 
them  was  Hans  Sachs  (1494-1575),  who,  in  the  space  of  fifty- 
three  years,  wrote  6181  pieces  of  verse. 

DIETMAR  VON  AIST. 

By  the  heath  stood  a  lady 

All  lonely  and  fair  ; 
As  she  watched  for  her  lover, 

A  falcon  flew  near. 
"  Happy  falcon ! "  she  cried, 
"  Who  can  fly  where  he  list, 
And  can  choose  in  the  forest 

The  tree  he  loves  best ! 

"  Thus,  too,  had  I  chosen 

One  knight  for  mine  own, 
Him  my  eye  had  selected, 

Him  prized  I  alone : 
But  other  fair  ladies 

Have  envied  my  joy, 
And  why  ?  for  I  sought  not 

Their  bliss  to  destroy. 

"  As  to  thee,  lovely  summer, 

Returns  the  birds'  strain, 
As  on  yonder  green  linden 

The  leaves  spring  again, 
So  constant  doth  grief 

At  my  eyes  overflow, 
And  wilt  not  thou,  dearest, 

Return  to  me  now? 

"  Yes,  come,  my  own  hero, 

All  others  desert ! 
"When  first  my  eye  saw  thee, 

How  graceful  thou  wert ; 
How  fair  was  thy  presence, 

How  graceful,  how  bright ! 


106  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Then  think  of  me  only, 
My  own  chosen  knight !  " 


There  sat  upon  the  linden-tree 

A  bird  and  sang  its  strain ; 
So  sweet  it  sang,  that,  as  I  heard, 

My  heart  went  back  again : 
It  went  to  one  remembered  spot, 

I  saw  the  rose-trees  grow, 
And  thought  again  the  thoughts  of  love 

There  cherished  long  ago. 

A  thousand  years  to  me  it  seems 

Since  by  my  fair  I  sat, 
Yet  thus  to  have  been  a  stranger  long 

Was  not  my  choice,  but  fate : 
Since  then  I  have  not  seen  the  flowers, 

Nor  heard  the  birds'  sweet  song ; 
My  joys  have  all  too  briefly  passed, 

My  griefs  been  all  too  long. 

—  2V.  by  TAYLOR. 

WALTHER  VON  DEB  VOGELWEIDE. 

Early  Thirteenth  Century. 

UNDER  THE  LINDEN. 

Under  the  linden 

On  the  meadow 
Where  our  bed  arranged  was, 

There  now  you  may  find  e'en 

In  the  shadow 

Broken  flowers  and  crushed  grass. 
Near  the  woods,  down  in  the  vale 

Tandaradi ! 
Sweetly  sang  the  nightingale. 

I,  poor  sorrowing  one, 

Came  to  the  prairie, 
Look,  my  lover  had  gone  before. 

There  he  received  me — 

Gracious  Mary ! — 

That  now  with  bliss  I  am  brimming  o'er. 
Kissed  he  me?    Ah,  thousand  hours! 

Tandaradi ! 


GERMAN  LITER  A  TURE.  107 

See  my  mouth,  how  red  it  flowers ! 

Then  'scan  he  making 

Oh !  so  cheery, 
From  flowers  a  couch  most  rich  outspread. 

At  which  outbreaking 

In  laughter  merry 
You'll  find,  whoe'er  the  path  does  tread. 

By  the  rose  he  can  see 

Tandaradi ! 
Where  my  head  lay  cozily. 

How  he  caressed  me 

Knew  it  one  ever 
God  defend !  ashamed  I'd  be. 

"Whereto  he  pressed  me 

No,  no,  never 

Shall  any  know  it  but  him  and  me 
And  a  birdlet  on  the  tree 

Tandaradi ! 
Sure  we  can  trust  it,  cannot  we  ? 

—TV.  by  KROEGER. 

FROM  THE  CRUSADERS'  HYMN. 

Sweet  love  of  Holy  Spirit 
Direct  sick  mind  and  steer  it, 
God,  who  the  first  didst  rear  it, 

Protect  thou  Christendom. 

It  lies  of  pleasure  barren 
Xo  rose  blooms  more  in  Sharon  ; 
Comfort  of  all  th'  ill-starren, 

Oh !  help  dispel  the  gloom ! 
Keep,  Savior,  from  all  ill  us ! 
We  long  for  the  bounding  billows, 
Thy  Spirit's  love  must  thrill  us, 

Repentant  hearts'  true  friend. 
Thy  blood  for  us  thou'st  given, 
Unlocked  the  gates  of  heaven. 
Now  strive  we  as  we've  striven 

To  gain  the  blessed  land. 
Our  wealth  and  blood  grows  thinner ; 
God  yet  will  make  us  winner 
Gainst  him,  who  many  a  sinner 

Holds  pawned  in  his  hand. 


108  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

God  keep  thy  help  us  sending, 
With  thy  right  hand  aid  lending, 
Protect  us  till  the  ending 

When  at  last  our  soul  us  leaves, 
From  hell-fires'  flaming  clamor 
Lest  we  fall  'neath  the  hammer  ! 
Too  oft  we've  heard  with  tremor, 

How  pitiably  it  grieves 

The  land  so  pure  and  holy 
All  helplessly  and  fearfully ! 

Jerusalem,  weep  lowly, 
That  thou  forgotten  art ! 
The  heathen's  boastful  glory 
Put  thee  in  slavery  hoary. 
Christ,  by  thy  name's  proud  story 

In  mercy  take  her  part ! 
And  help  those  sorely  shaken 
Who  treaties  them  would  maken 
That  we  may  not  be  taken 

And  conquered  at  the  start. 

— TV.  by  KROEGER. 

When  from  the  sod  the  flowerets  spring, 

And  smile  to  meet  the  sun's  bright  ray, 
When  birds  their  sweetest  carols  sing, 

In  all  the  morning  pride  of  May, 
What  lovelier  than  the  prospect  there  ? 
Can  earth  boast  any  thing  more  fair? 
To  me  it  seems  an  almost  heaven, 
So  beauteous  to  my  eyes  that  vision  bright  is  given. 

But  when  a  lady  chaste  and  fair, 

Noble,  and  clad  in  rich  attire, 
Walks  through  the  throng  with  gracious  air, 

As  sun  that  bids  the  stars  retire,— 
Then,  where  are  all  thy  boastings,  May  ? 
What  hast  thou  beautiful  and  gay, 
Compared  with  that  supreme  delight  ? 
We  leave  thy  loveliest  flowers,  and  watch  that  lady  bright. 

Wouldst  thou  believe  me, — come  and  place 

Before  thee  all  this  pride  of  May  ; 
Then  look  but  on  my  lady's  face, 

And  which  is  best  and  brightest  say : 


GERMAN  LITERATURE.  109 

For  me,  how  soon  (if  choice  were  mine) 
This  would  I  take,  and  that  resign, 
And  say,  ' '  Though  sweet  thy  beauties,  May, 
I'd  rather  forfeit  all  than  lose  rny  lady  gay !  " 

—Tr.  by  TAYLOR. 

The  Minnesingers  wrote  many  songs  in  praise  of  the  Virgin. 
She  was  the  embodiment  of  pure  womanhood,  their  con- 
stant object  of  devotion.  The  following  extracts  are  taken 
from  a  hymn  to  the  Virgin,  formerly  attributed  to  Gottfried 
von  Strassburg.  It  is  one  of  the  greatest  of  the  Minnesongs. 
It  consists  of  ninety-three  stanzas,  of  which  six  are  given. 

Stanza  L— Ye  who  your  life  would  glorify 

And  float  in  bliss  to  God  on  high, 

There  to  dwell  nigh 
His  peace  and  love's  salvation ; 
Who  fain  would  learn  how  to  enroll 
All  evil  under  your  control, 

And  rid  your  soul 
Of  many  a  sore  temptation ; 
Give  heed  unto  this  song  of  love, 
And  follow  its  sweet  story. 
Then  will  its  passing  sweetness  prove 
Unto  your  hearts  a  winged  dove 

And  upward  move 
Your  souls  to  bliss  and  glory. 

Stanza  12.— Ye  fruitful  heavens,  from  your  ways 
Bend  down  to  hear  the  tuneful  lays 

I  sing  in  praise 
Of  her,  the  sainted  maiden, 

Who  unto  us  herself  has  shown 
A  modest  life,  a  crown  and  throne ; 

Whose  love  has  flown 
O'er  many  a  heart  grief- laden. 
Thou  too,  O  Christ,  thine  ear  incline 

To  this  my  adoration, 
In  honor  of  that  mother  thine 
Who  ever  blest  must  stay  and  shine, 

For  she's  the  shrine 
Of  God's  whole  vast  creation. 


110  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Stanza,  19,— Thou  sheen  of  flowers  through  clover  place, 
Thou  lignum  aloe's  blooming  face, 

Thou  sea  of  grace, 
Where  man  seeks  blessed  landing. 
Thou  roof  of  rapture  high  and  blest, 
Through  which  no  rain  has  ever  passed, 

Thou  goodly  rest, 
Whose  end  is  without  ending. 
Thou  to  help-bearing  strength  a  tower 

Against  all  hostile  evils. 
Thou  parriest  many  a  stormy  shower 
Which  o'er  us  cast  in  darkest  hour, 

The  hell  worm's  power 
And  other  ruthless  devils. 

Stanza  20. — Thou  art  a  sun,  a  moon,  a  star, 

'Tis  thou  can'st  give  all  good  and  mar, 

Yea,  and  debar 
Our  enemies'  great  cunning. 
That  power  God  to  thee  hath  given 
That  living  light,  that  light  of  heaven  : 

Hence  see  we  even 
Thy  praise  from  all  lips  running. 
Thou'st  won  the  purest,  noblest  fame, 
In  all  the  earth's  long  story, 
That  e'er  attached  to  worldly  name ; 
It  shineth  brightly  like  a  flame ; 

All  hearts  the  same 
Adore  its  lasting  glory. 

Stanza  S2. — To  worship,  Lady,  thee  is  bliss, 

And  fruitful  hours  ne'er  pass  amiss 

To  heart  that  is 

So  sweet  a  guest's  host-mansion. 
He  who  thee  but  invited  hath 
Into  his  heart's  heart  love  with  faith, 

Must  live  and  bathe 
In  endless  bliss- expansion. 
To  worship  thee  stirs  up  in  man 
A  love  now  tame,  now  passion. 
To  worship  thee  doth  waken,  then 
Love  e'en  in  those  love  ne'er  could  gain ; 

Thus  now  amain 
Shines  forth  thy  love's  concession. 


GERMAN  LITERATURE.  Ill 

From  praising  Mary,  the  poet  passes  to  praising  Christ. 

Stanza  59.— Thou  cool,  thou  cold,  thou  warmth,  thou  heat, 
Thou  rapture's  circle's  central  seat, 

Who  does  not  meet 
With  thee  stays  dead  in  sadness  ; 
Each  day  to  him  appears  a  year, 
Seldom  his  thoughts  wear  green  bloom's  gear ; 

He  doth  appear 
Forever  without  gladness. 
Thou  art  most  truly  our  heart's  shine 
Our  sun  wide  joy-inspiring ; 
A  sweet  heart's  love  for  all  that  pine, 
For  all  the  sad  a  joyful  shrine, 

A  spring  divine 
For  the  thirsty  and  desiring. 

— Tr.  by  KROEGKER. 


CHAPTEE  Y. 

ITALIAN    LITERATURE. 

THERE  was  no  folk  poetry  and  no  popular  literature  in 
Mediaeval  Italy.  There  were  two  reasons  for  this  :  (1)  Italian 
history,  political  and  intellectual,  attaches  itself  very  closely 
to  that  of  Rome.  The  traditions  of  classic  learning  never  died 
out.  Hence  the  Italian  nation  was  always  too  learned,  too 
literary  to  develop  a  folk  literature.  (2)  Italy  was  for  many 
centuries  dominated  by  ecclesiastical  influence,  and  the 
people's  minds  were  full  of  matters  of  religious  and  scholastic 
philosophy,  which  excluded  art. 

The  Italians  translated  and  adapted  some  of  the  epics, 
romances,  and  tales  of  other  countries,  during  the  earlier 
years  of  the  Middle  Ages  ;  but  they  were  written  in  Latin,  or 
in  a  kind  of  French.  They  produced  none  of  their  own. 
There  was  no  literature  written  in  Italian  before  the  thirteenth 
century. 

In  the  thirteenth  century  (1250)  there  came  the  first  out- 
burst of  Italian  literature — religious  songs,  love  songs,  dramas, 
and  tales.  In  almost  every  part  of  Italy  men  began  to  write. 
But  it  was  in  Tuscany,  in  Florence,  that  the  most  remarkable 
literary  development  of  this  period  appeared.  It  was  of  the 
nature  chiefly  of  lyric  and  allegoric  poetry.  The  work  of  this 
group  of  Tuscan  poets  was  really  the  beginning  of  Italian 
literary  art.  Yet  it  was  a  finished  art  product,  not  at  all  like 
the  beginnings  of  poetry  in  other  countries. 

The  group  numbered  a  dozen  poets  of  considerable  power 

112 


ITALIAN  LITERATURE.  113 

and  skill.  The  greatest  of  them  and  the  greatest  of  Italian 
poets  was  Dante  Alighieri.  In  Italian  mediaeval  literature 
three  names  stand  out  far  above  all  others.  They  are 
Dante,  Petrarch,  and  Boccaccio.  So  completely  do  they  over- 
shadow their  contemporaries,  that  in  making  our  selection  of 
Italian  literature  we  shall  confine  ourselves  entirely  to  these 
three. 

Dante  Alighieri  was  born  at  Florence,  in  May,  1265,  and 
died  at  Ravenna  in  September,  1321.  He  had  an  eventful  and 
pathetic  life.  He  was  much  in  public  affairs.  He  was  ban- 
ished from  his  native  city  in  1302,  and  died  in  exile.  His 
literary  work  is  represented  chiefly  by  the  following  titles  : 
Vita  Nuova,  The  New  Life;  Convito,  The  Banquet;  De  Monar- 
chia,  A  Treatise  on  Monarchy ;  De  Vulgari  Eloquio,  A  Treatise 
on  the  Vulgar  Tongue;  andDz'vma  Commedia,  his  masterpiece 
and  the  master-work  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

FROM  THE  VITA  NUOVA. 

The  Vita  Nuova  is  a  work  of  Dante's  youth,  a  record  of 
his  early  life  and  love.  The  title  may  be  translated  either 
Early  Life  or  The  New  Life.  From  the  nature  of  the  work  we 
may  infer  that  the  latter  translation  conveys  the  poet's 
thought.  It  implies  that  after  his  first  sight  of  Beatrice 
he  began  a  new  existence.  He  saw  her  first  when  he  was  nine 
years  old.  Nine  years  later  she  greeted  him  for  the  first  time. 
Inspired  by  this  greeting  he  began  the  Vita  Nuova.1  It  is 
written  in  prose  interspersed  with  sonnets  and  canzoni.  We 
select  for  reproduction  some  of  the  sonnets  from  Rossetti's 
translation. 

i  When  Dante  first  saw  Beatrice  she  was  eight  years  old.  From  that  hour 
he  says  he  loved  her.  She  was  the  inspiration  of  his  early  poem ;  and  after- 
ward, in  the  Divine  Comedy,  she  became  the  embodiment  of  his  conception 
of  divine  wisdom.  She  was  married  quite  young  to  Simon  di  Bardi,  a 
citizen  of  Florence.  She  died  in  1290,  when  only  twenty-four  years  old. 


114  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

I.  Sonnets  telling  to  other  ladies  the  praise  of  Beatrice. 

Ladies  that  have  intelligence  in  love 

Of  mine  own  lady  I  would  speak  with  you ; 

Not  that  I  hope  to  count  her  praises  through, 

But  telling  what  I  may  to  ease  my  mind. 
And  I  declare  that  when  I  speak  thereof 
Love  sheds  such  perfect  sweetness  over  me 
That  if  my  courage  failed  not,  certainly 

To  him  my  listeners  must  be  all  resign' d. 

Wherefore  I  will  not  speak  in  such  large  kind 
That  mine  own  speech  should  foil  me,  which  were  base ; 
But  only  will  discourse  of  her  high  grace 

In  these  poor  words,  the  best  that  I  can  find, 
With  you  alone  dear  dames  and  damozels : 
'Twere  ill  to  speak  thereof  with  any  else. 

My  lady  is  desired  in  the  high  Heaven  ; 

Wherefore,  it  now  behoveth  me  to  tell, 

Saying :    Let  any  maid  that  would  be  well 

Esteemed,  keep  with  her ;  for  as  she  goes  by, 
Into  foul  hearts  a  deadly  chill  is  driven 
By  Love,  that  makes  ill  thoughts  to  perish  there ; 
While  any  who  endures  to  gaze  on  her 

Must  either  be  ennobled,  or  else  die. 

When  one  deserving  to  be  raised  so  high 
Is  found,  'tis  then  her  power  attains  its  proof, 
Making  his  heart  strong  for  his  soul's  behoof 

With  the  full  strength  of  meek  humility. 
Also  this  virtue  owns  she,  by  God's  will : 
Who  speaks  with  her  can  never  come  to  ill. 

II.  On  the  death  of  Beatrice. 

When  mine  eyes  had  wept  for  some  while  until  they  were  so 
weary  with  weeping  that  I  could  no  longer  through  them  give 
ease  to  my  sorrow,  I  bethought  me  that  a  few  mournful  words 
might  stand  me  instead  of  tears.  And  therefore  I  proposed  to 
make  a  poem,  that  weeping  I  might  speak  therein  of  her  for 
whom  so  much  sorrow  had  destroyed  my  spirit ;  and  I  then 
began : 

The  eyes  that  weep  for  pity  of  the  heart 
Have  wept  so  long  that  their  grief  languisheth, 
And  they  have  no  more  tears  to  weep  withal : 


ITALIAN  LITERATURE.  115 

And  now  if  I  would  ease  me  of  a  part 
Of  what,  little  by  little,  leads  to  death, 

It  must  be  done  by  speech,  or  not  at  all, 

And  because  often,  thinking  I  recall 

How  it  was  pleasant  ere  she  went  afar, 
To  talk  of  her  with  you,  kind  damozels, 

I  talk  with  no  one  else, 

But  only  with  such  hearts  as  women's  are. 

And  I  will  say, — still  sobbing  as  speech  fails, — 

That  she  hath  gone  to  Heaven  suddenly, 

And  hath  left  Love  below,  to  mourn  with  me. 

m. 

"  Dante  once  prepared  to  paint  an  angel." 

"  You  and  I  would  rather  see  that  angel 
Painted  by  the  tenderness  of  Dante,— 
Would  we  not  ?— than  read  a  fresh  Inferno." 

— Browning's  One  Word  More. 

On  that  day  which  fulfilled  the  year  since  my  lady  had  been 
made  of  the  citizens  of  eternal  life,  remembering  me  of  her  as 
I  sat  alone,  I  betook  myself  to  draw  the  resemblance  of  an 
angel  upon  certain  tablets.  And  while  I  did  thus,  chancing 
to  turn  my  head,  I  perceived  that  some  were  standing  beside 
me  to  whom  I  should  have  given  courteous  welcome,  and 
that  they  were  observing  what  I  did  ;  also  I  learned  afterwards 
that  they  had  been  there  a  while  before  I  perceived  them. 
Perceiving  whom,  I  arose  for  salutation  and  said  :  "  Another 
was  with  me." 

Afterwards,  when  they  had  left  me,  I  set  myself  again  to 
mine  occupation,  to  wit,  to  the  drawing  figures  of  angels  ;  in 
doing  which,  I  conceived  to  write  of  this  matter  in  rhyme,  as 
for  her  anniversary,  and  to  address  my  rhymes  unto  those 
who  had  just  left  me.  It  was  then  that  I  wrote  the  sonnet 
which  saith  "  That  Lady  "  : 

That  lady  of  all  gentle  memories 

Had  lighted  on  my  soul ;  whose  new  abode 
Lies  now,  as  it  was  well  ordained  of  God, 

Among  the  poor  in  heart  where  Mary  is. 

Love,  knowing  that  dear  image  to  be  his, 

Woke  up  within  the  sick  heart  sorrow-bowed, 


116  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Unto  the  sighs  which  are  its  weary  load, 
Saying,  "  Go  forth."    And  they  went  forth,  I  wis 
Forth  went  they  from  my  breast  that  throbbed  and  ached ; 

With  such  a  pang  as  oftentimes  will  bathe 

Mine  eyes  with  tears  when  I  am  left  alone. 
And  still  those  sighs  Avhich  drew  the  heaviest  breath 
Came  whispering  thus:  "O  noble  intellect ! 

It  is  a  year  to-day  that  thou  art  gone." 

IV.     The  Close  of  the  Vita  Nuova. 

Beyond  the  sphere  which  spreads  to  widest  space 

Now  soars  the  sigh  that  my  heart  sends  above ; 

A  new  perception  born  of  grieving  Love 
Guideth  it  upward  the  untrodden  ways. 
When  it  hath  reached  unto  the  end  and  stays, 

It  sees  a  lady  round  whom  splendors  move 

In  homage ;  till,  by  the  great  light  thereof 
Abashed,  the  pilgrim  spirit  stands  at  gaze. 
It  sees  her  such,  that  when  it  tells  me  this 
Which  it  hath  seen,  I  understand  it  not ; 

It  hath  a  speech  so  subtile  and  so  fine 
And  yet  I  know  its  voice  within  my  thought 
Often  remembereth  me  of  Beatrice : 

So  that  I  understand  it,  ladies  mine. 

After  writing  this  sonnet,  it  was  given  unto  me  to  behold  a 
very  wonderful  vision,1  wherein  I  saw  things  which  deter- 
mined me  that  I  would  say  nothing  further  of  this  most 
blessed  one,  until  such  time  as  I  could  discourse  more  worthily 
of  her.  And  to  this  end  I  labor  all  I  can  ;  as  she  well  knoweth. 
Wherefore  if  it  be  His  pleasure  through  whom  is  the  life  of  all 
things,  that  my  life  continue  with  me  a  few  years,  it  is  my 
hope  that  I  shall  yet  write  concerning  her  what  hath  not  be- 
fore been  written  of  any  woman.  After  the  which  may  it 
seem  good  unto  Him  who  is  the  Master  of  Grace,  that  my 
spirit  should  go  hence  to  behold  the  glory  of  its  lady  :  to  wit, 
the  blessed  Beatrice,  who  now  gazeth  continually  on  His 
countenance  qui  est  per  omnia  scecula  benedictus.  Laus  Deo.2 

1  This  we  may  believe  to  be  the  vision  of  Hell,  Purgatory,  and  Paradise— 
the  vision  which  gave  him  the  argument  of  the  Divine  Comedy. 

2  Who  is  blessed  throughout  all  ages.    Praise  to  God. 


ITALIA  X  LITER  A  TUBE.  117 

FROM  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY.i 

Midway  in  life  the  poet  finds  himself  lost  in  the  forest 
of  worldly  cares,  beset  by  the  three  beasts,  Pride,  Avarice,  and 
"Worldly  Pleasure.  Virgil,  who  is  the  embodiment  of  moral 
philosophy,  appears  and  leads  him  through  the  Hell  of  worldly 
sin  and  suffering,  through  the  Purgatory  of  repentance,  to 
the  calm  of  the  earthly  Paradise.  Mere  philosophy  can  go  no 
further.  The  poet  is  here  taken  under  the  guidance  of  Be- 
atrice, the  embodiment  of  divine  wisdom,  who  leads  him 
through  Paradise  to  the  throne  of  God.  Such,  in  the  briefest 
form,  is  the  argument  of  the  Divine  Comedy  ;  this  statement 
carries  the  actual  story  and  the  allegory  side  by  side. 

The  first  division  of  the  triple  vision  is  the  Inferno.  Dante's 
Inferno  is  an  inverted  cone,  having  its  mouth  in  a  deep 
rugged  valley,  its  sides  sloping  down  to  the  center  of  the 
earth.  When  Lucifer  fell  from  heaven  the  earth  retired  before 
him,  making  this  hollow  cone.  This  is  divided  into  nine 
circles,  in  which  the  lost  souls  suffer.  These  souls  are  grouped 
into  three  main  classes  :  the  incontinent,  the  violent,  and  the 
fraudulent. 

The  first  circle  of  the  Inferno  is  Limbo,  where  are  the  souls 
of  children  and  the  unbaptized  ;  of  the  heathen  philosophers 
and  poets.  They  are  neither  in  pain  nor  glory.  They  do  not 
shriek  nor  groan  but  only  sigh. 

I.     The  Poets  in  Limbo. 

From  the  Inferno. 

Broke  the  deep  slumber  in  my  brain  a  crash 
Of  heavy  thunder,  that  I  shook  myself, 
As  one  by  main  force  roused.    Risen  upright, 
My  rested  eyes  I  moved  around,  and  search'd, 
With  fixed  ken,  to  know  what  place  it  was 
Wherein  I  stood.    For  certain,  on  the  brink 

i  Dante  called  his  poem  a  comedy,  he  says,  for  two  reasons :  because 
it  has  a  sad  beginning  and  a  cheerful  ending,  and  because  it  is  •written  in  a 
"  middle  "  style,  treating  alike  of  lowly  and  lofty  things. 


118  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

I  found  me  of  the  lamentable  vale, 

The  dread  abyss,  that  joins  a  thundrous  sound 

Of  plaints  innumerable.    Dark  and  deep, 

And  thick  with  clouds  o'erspread,  mine  eye  in  vain 

Explored  its  bottom,  nor  could  aught  discern. 

"  Now  let  us  to  the  blind  world  there  beneath 
Descend ; "  the  bard  began,  all  pale  of  look : 

"  I  go  the  first,  and  thou  shalt  follow  next." 
Then  I,  his  alter' d  hue  perceiving,  thus: 

"  How  may  I  speed,  if  thou  yieldest  to  dread, 
Who  still  art  wont  to  comfort  me  in  doubt  ?  " 

He  then :  "  The  anguish  of  that  race  below 
With  pity  stains  my  cheek,  which  thou  for  fear 
Mistakes!.    Let  us  on.    Our  length  of  way 
Urges  to  haste."    Onward,  this  said,  he  moved ; 
And  entering  led  me  with  him,  on  the  bounds 
Of  the  first  circle  that  surrounds  the  abyss. 


We  were  not  far 

On  this  side  from  the  summit,  when  I  kenn'd 
A  flame,  that  o'er  the  darken' d  hemisphere 
Prevailing  shined.    Yet  we  a  little  space 
Were  distant,  not  so  far  but  I  in  part 
Discover' d  that  a  tribe  in  honour  high 
That  place  possess' d.    ' '  O  thou,  who  every  art 
And  science  valuest !  who  are  these  that  boast 
Such  honour,  separate  from  all  the  rest?  " 

He  answer' d :  "  The  renown  of  their  great  names, 
That  echoes  through  your  world  above,  acquires 
Favour  in  heaven,  which  holds  them  thus  advanced." 
Meantime  a  voice  I  heard :  ' '  Honour  the  bard 
Sublime ! l  his  shade  returns,  that  left  us  late ! " 

No  sooner  ceased  the  sound,  than  I  beheld 
Four  mighty  spirits  toward  us  bend  their  steps, 
Of  semblance  neither  sorrowful  nor  glad. 

When  thus  my  master  kind  began :  "  Mark  him, 
Who  in  his  right  hand  bears  that  falchion  keen, 
The  other  three  preceding,  as  their  lord. 
This  is  that  Homer,  of  all  bards  supreme : 
Flaccus  the  next,  in  satire's  vein  excelling ; 
The  third  is  Naso ;  Lucan  is  the  last. 

i  The  bard  sublime— Virgil. 


ITALIAN  LITERATURE.  119 

Because  they  all  that  appellation,  own, 
With  which  the  voice  singly  accosted  me, 
Honouring  they  greet  me  thus,  and  well  they  judge." 

So  I  beheld  united  the  bright  school 
Of  him  the  monarch  of  sublimest  song,1 

That  o'er  the  others  like  an  eagle  soars. 

When  they  together  short  discourse  had  held, 
They  turned  to  me,  with  salutation  kind 
Beckoning  me ;  at  the  which  my  master  smiled : 
Nor  was  this  all ;  but  greater  honour  still 
They  gave  me,  for  they  made  me  of  their  tribe ; 
And  I  was  sixth  amid  so  learn' d  a  band. 

II.    Francesco,  da  Rimini.* 

From  the  Inferno. 

From  Limbo  the  poet  descends  into  the  second  circle,  where  the  sin  of  lust 
is  punished.  The  souls  in  this  circle  are  driven  forever  round  in  a 
tyrannous  gust  of  wind.  They  see  Cleopatra  and  Helen  and  Paris  and 
Tristan  and  many  others  whom  Virgil  names  to  the  poet.  Finally  he 
sees  two  spirits  approaching,  whom  he  asks  permission  to  address.  To 
these  he  spoke : 

"  O  wearied  spirits !  come,  and  hold  discourse 
With  us,  if  by  none  else  restrain'd."    As  doves 
By  fond  desire  invited,  on  wide  wings 
And  firm,  to  their  sweet  nest  returning  home, 
Cleave  the  air,  wafted  by  their  will  along ; 
Thus  issued,  from  that  troop  where  Dido  ranks, 
They,  through  the  ill  air  speeding :  with  such  force 
My  cry  prevail'd,  by  strong  affection  urged. 

"  O  gracious  creature  and  benign !  who  go'st 
Visiting,  through  this  element  obscure, 
Us,  who  the  world  with  bloody  stain  imbrued ; 
If,  for  a  friend,  the  King  of  all,  we  own'd, 
Our  prayer  to  him  should  for  thy  peace  arise, 
Since  thou  hast  pity  on  our  evil  plight. 
Of  whatsoe'er  to  hear  or  to  discourse 
It  pleases  thee,  that  will  we  hear,  of  that 
Freely  with  thee  discourse,  while  e'er  the  wind, 

i  The  monarch  of  sublimest  song— Homer. 

a  Francesca  da  Polenta  was  given  in  marriage  by  her  father  to  Lanciotto 
da  Rimini,  a  man  brave,  but  of  deformed  person.  His  brother  Paolo,  who 
was  exceedingly  handsome,  won  her  affections.  They  were  both  put  to 
death  by  Lanciotto, 


120  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

As  now,  is  mute.    The  land l  that  gave  me  birth 
Is  situate  on  the  coast,  where  Po  descends 
To  rest  in  ocean  with  his  sequent  streams. 

"  Love,  that  in  gentle  heart  is  quickly  learnt, 
Entangled  him  by  that  fair  form,  from  me 
Ta'en  in  such  cruel  sort,  as  grieves  me  still;: 
Love,  that  denial  takes  from  none  beloved, 
Caught  me  with  pleasing  him  so  passing  well, 
That,  as  thou  seest,  he  yet  deserts  me  not. 
Love  brought  us  to  one  death :  Cai'na 2  waits 
The  soul,  who  spilt  our  life."    Such  were  their  words ; 
At  hearing  which,  downward  I  bent  my  looks, 
And  held  them  there  so  long,  that  the  bard  cried  : 
"  What  art  thou  pondering  ?  "    I  in  answer  thus : 
"  Alas !  by  what  sweet  thoughts,  what  fond  desire 
Must  they  at  length  to  that  ill  pass  have  reach'd !  " 

Then  turning,  I  to  them  my  speech  addressed, 
And  thus  began  :    "  Francesca !  your  sad  fate 
Even  to  tears  my  grief  and  pity  moves. 
But  tell  me ;  in  the  time  of  your  sweet  sighs, 
By  what,  and  how  Love  granted,  that  ye  knew 
Your  yet  uncertain  wishes  ?  "    She  replied  : 
"  No  greater  grief  than  to  remember  days 
Of  joy,  when  misery  is  at  hand.    That  kens 
Thy  learn'd  instructor.    Yet  so  eagerly 
If  thou  art  bent  to  know  the  primal  root, 
From  whence  our  love  gat  being,  I  will  do 
As  one,  who  weeps  and  tells  his  tale.    One  day, 
For  our  delight  we  read  of  Lancelot,3 
How  him  love  thrall'd.    Alone  we  were,  and  no 
Suspicion  near  us.    Oft-times  by  that  reading 
Our  eyes  were  drawn  together,  and  the  hue 
Fled  from  our  alter'd  cheek.    But  at  one  point 
Alone  we  fell.    When  of  that  smile  we  read, 
The  wished  smile  so  rapturously  kiss'd 
By  one  so  deep  in  love,  then  he,  who  ne'er 
From  me  shall  separate,  at  once  my  lips 
All  trembling  kiss'd.    The  book  and  writer  both 
Were  love's  purveyors.    In  its  leaves  that  day 
We  read  no  more."    While  thus  one  spirit  spake, 

1  The  land  that  gave  me  birth— Ravenna. 

2  Cai'na,  the  place  to  which  murderers  are  doomed. 

3  Lancelot,  one  of  the  knights  of  the  Round  Table,  the  lover  of  Queen 
Guinevere. 


ITALIAN  LITERATURE.  121 

The  other  wailed  so  sorely,  that  heart-struck 
I,  through  compassion  fainting,  seem'd  not  far 
From  death,  and  like  a  corse  fell  to  the  ground. 

III.    Farinata. 

From  the  Inferno. 

The  poet  and  his  guide  descend  through  the  third  circle  where  the  sin  of 
gluttony  is  punished;  through  the  fourth,  where  they  find  the  prodigal 
and  avaricious ;  through  the  fifth  where  immersed  in  a  filthy  pool  are 
the  souls  of  the  irascible. 

The  sixth  circle  is  the  city  of  Dis,  with  walls  of  heated  iron,  filled  within 
with  open  fiery  tombs  from  which  issue  the  groans  of  the  heretics  who 
are  punished  here.  With  two  of  these,  Farinata  degli  Ubertii  and 
Cavalcante  Cavalcanti.s  Dante  holds  converse. 

Now  by  a  secret  pathway  we  proceed, 

Between  the  walls  that  hem  the  region  round, 

And  the  tormented  souls :  my  master  first, 

I  close  behind  his  steps.    "  Virtue  supreme ! " 

I  thus  began :  "who  through  these  ample  orbs 

In  circuit  lead'st  me,  even  as  thou  will'st ; 

Speak  thou,  and  satisfy  my  wish.    May  those, 

Who  lie  within  these  sepulchres,  be  seen? 

Already  all  the  lids  are  raised,  and  none 

O'er  them  keeps  watch."    He  thus  in  answer  spake : 

"  They  shall  be  closed  all,  what-time  they  here 
From  Josaphat 3  return' d  shall  come,  and  bring 
Their  bodies,  which  above  they  now  have  left. 
The  cemetery  on  this  part  obtain, 
With  Epicurus,  all  his  followers, 
Who  with  the  body  make  the  spirit  die. 
Here  therefore  satisfaction  shall  be  soon, 
Both  to  the  question  ask'd,  and  to  the  wish  * 
Which  thou  conceal' st  in  silence."    I  replied : 

"  I  keep  not,  guide  beloved !  from  thee  my  heart 
Secreted,  but  to  shun  vain  length  of  words ; 
A  lesson  erewhile  taught  me  by  thyself." 

"  O  Tuscan !  thou,  who  through  the  city  of  fire 
Alive  art  passing,  so  discreet  of  speech  : 

i  Farinata  degli  Uberti,  a  Florentine  of  great  military  ability,  a  leader  of 
the  Ghibelline,  or  imperial,  party. 

*  Cavalcante  Cavalcauti,  a  Florentine,  of  the  Guelph,  or  Papal,  party. 

sit  was  a  common  opinion  that  the  general  judgment  would  be  held  in  the 
valley  of  Josaphat,  or  Jehoshaphat.  Joel  iii.,  2. 

<  The  wish— Dante's  wish  was  to  speak  with  the  followers  of  Epicurus,  of 
whom  were  Farinata  and  Cavalcante. 


122  SOATG  AND  LEGEND. 

Here,  please  thee,  stay  awhile.    Thy  utterance 

Declares  the  place  of  thy  nativity 

To  be  that  noble  land,  with  which  perchance 

I  too  severely  dealt."    Sudden  that  sound 

Forth  issued  from  a  vault,  whereat,  in  fear, 

I  somewhat  closer  to  my  leader's  side 

Approaching,  he  thus  spake :  "  What  dost  thou?  Turn: 

Lo  I  Farinata  there,  who  hath  himself 

Uplifted :  from  his  girdle  upwards,  all 

Exposed,  behold  him."    On  his  face  was  mine 

Already  fix'd :  his  breast  and  forehead  there 

Erecting,  seem'd  as  in  high  scorn  he  held 

E'en  hell.    Between  the  sepulchres,  to  him 

My  guide  thrust  me,  with  fearless  hands  and  prompt ; 

This  warning  added :  "  See  thy  words  be  clear." 

He,  soon  as  there  I  stood  at  the  tomb's  foot, 
Eyed  me  a  space ;  then  in  disdainful  mood 
Address'd  me:  "  Say  what  ancestors  were  thine." 

I,  willing  to  obey  him,  straight  reveal'd 
The  whole,  nor  kept  back  aught :  whence  he,  his  brow 
Somewhat  uplifting,  cried :  "  Fiercely  were  they 
Adverse  to  me,  my  party,  and  the  blood 
From  whence  I  sprang :  twice,  therefore,  I  abroad 
Scatter' d  them."     "Though  driven  out,  yet  they  each 

time 

From  all  parts,"  answer'd  I,  "  return'd ;  an  art 
Which  yours  have  shown  they  are  not  skill'd  to  learn." 

Then,  peering  forth  from  the  unclosed  jaw, 
Rose  from  his  side  a  shade,1  high  as  the  chin, 
Leaning,  methought,  upon  its  knees  upraised. 
It  look'd  around,  as  eager  to  explore 
If  there  were  other  with  me ;  but  perceiving 
That  fond  imagination  quench'd,  with  tears 
Thus  spake :  "  If  thou  through  this  blind  prison  go'st, 
Led  by  thy  lofty  genius  and  profound, 
Where  is  my  son?  and  wherefore  not  with  thee?  " 

I  straight  replied :  "  Xot  of  myself  I  come ; 
By  him,  who  there  expects  me,  through  this  clime 
Conducted,  whom  perchance  Guido  thy  son 
Had  in  contempt." 2    Already  had  his  words 

1  A  shade— Cavalcante. 

2  Guido,  thy  son  had  in  contempt— Guido  the  son  of  Cavalcante  Caval 
canti,  a  Tuscan  poet,  the  friend  of  Dante.    But  being  fonder  of  philosophy 
than  of  poetry  was  perhaps  not  an  admirer  of  Virgil. 


ITALIAN  LITERA  TURE.  123 

And  mode  of  punishment  read  me  his  name, 
Whence  I  so  fully  answer'd.    He  at  once 
Exclaim'd,  up  starting,  "  How !  said'st  thou,  he  had  * 
Xo  longer  lives  he  ?    Strikes  not  on  his  eye 
The  blessed  daylight  ?  "    Then,  of  some  delay 
I  made  ere  my  reply,  aware,  down  fell 
Supine,  nor  after  forth  appear'd  he  more. 

V.     The  Hypocrites. 

From  the  Inferno. 

In  the  seventh  circle,  which  is  divided  into  three  rounds,  or  gironi,  the  vio- 
lent are  tormented.  The  eighth  circle  is  divided  into  ten  concentric 
fosses,  or  gulfs,  in  each  of  which  some  variety  of  fraudulent  sinners  is 
punished.  In  the  sixth  gulf  are  the  hypocrites. 

There  in  the  depth  we  saw  a  painted  tribe, 
"Who  paced  with  tardy  steps  around,  and  wept, 
Faint  in  appearance  and  o'ercome  with  toil. 
Caps  had  they  on,  with  hoods,  that  fell  low  down 
Before  their  eyes,  in  fashion  like  to  those 
Worn  by  the  monks  in  Cologne.1    Their  outside 
Was  overlaid  with  gold,  dazzling  to  view, 
But  leaden  all  within,  and  of  such  weight, 
That  Frederick's2  compared  to  these  were  straw. 
Oh,  everlasting  wearisome  attire ! 

We  yet  once  more  with  them  together  turn'd 
To  leftward,  on  their  dismal  moan  intent. 
But  by  the  weight  opprest,  so  slowly  came 
The  fainting  people,  that  our  company 
Was  changed,  at  every  movement  of  the  step. 

I  staid,  and  saw  two  spirits  in  whose  look 
Impatient  eagerness  of  mind  was  mark'd 
To  overtake  me ;  but  the  load  they  bare 
And  narrow  path  retarded  their  approach. 

Soon  as  arrived,  they  with  an  eye  askance 
Perused  me,  but  spake  not :  then  turning,  each 
To  other  thus  conferring  said :    "  This  one 
Seems,  by  the  action  of  his  throat,  alive ; 
And,  be  they  dead,  what  privilege  allows 
They  walk  unmantled  by  the  cumbrous  stole?  " 

Then  thus  to  me :    "  Tuscan,  who  visitest 

i  The  monks  in  Cologne.   These  monks  wore  their  cowls  unusually  large. 
» Frederick's.    Frederick  II.  punished  those  guilty  of  high  treason  by 
wrapping  them  up  in  lead,  and  casting  them  into  a  furnace. 


124  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

The  college  of  the  mourning  hypocrites, 
Disdain  not  to  instruct  us  who  thou  art." 
"  By  Arno's  pleasant  stream,"  I  thus  replied, 
"  In  the  great  city  I  was  bred  and  grew, 
And  wear  the  body  I  have  ever  worn. 
But  who  are  ye,  from  whom  such  mighty  grief, 
As  now  I  witness,  courseth  down  your  cheeks  ? 
What  torment  breaks  forth  in  this  bitter  woe  ?  " 
"  Our  bonnets  gleaming  bright  with  orange  hue," 
One  of  them  answer'd,  "  are  so  leaden  gross, 
That  with  their  weight  they  make  the  balances 
To  crack  beneath  them.    Joyous  friars 1  we  were, 
Bologna's  natives ;  Catalano  I, 
He  Loderingo  named ;  and  by  thy  land 
Together  taken,  as  men  use  to  take 
A  single  and  indifferent  arbiter, 
To  reconcile  their  strifes.    How  there  we  sped, 
Gardingo's  vicinage2  can  best  declare." 
"  O  friars ! "  I  began,  "  your  miseries — " 
But  there  brake  off,  for  one  had  caught  mine  eye, 
Fix'd  to  a  cross  with  three  stakes  on  the  ground : 
He,  when  he  saw  me,  writhed  himself,  throughout 
Distorted,  ruffling  with  deep  sighs  his  beard. 
And  Catalano,  who  thereof  was  'ware, 
Thus  spake:    "  That  pierced  spirit,3  whom  intent 
Thou  view'st,  was  he  who  gave  the  Pharisees 
Counsel,  that  it  were  fitting  for  one  man 
To  suffer  for  the  people.    He  doth  lie 
Transverse ;  nor  any  passes,  but  him  first 
Behoves  make  feeling  trial  how  each  weighs. 
In  straits  like  this  along  the  foss  are  placed 
The  father  of  his  consort,4  and  the  rest 
Partakers  in  that  council,  seed  of  ill 
And  sorrow  to  the  Jews." 

1  Joyous  friars.    An  order  of  knights  (Frati  Godenti)  on  two  of  whom  the 
Ghibelline  party  at  one  time  conferred  the  chief  power  of  Florence.    One 
was  Catalano  de'  Malavolti,  the  other  Loderingo  di  Liandolo.    Their  ad- 
ministration was  unjust. 

2  Gardingo's  vicinage.    That  part  of  the  city  inhabited  by  the  Ghibelline 
family  of  the  Uberti,  and  destroyed,  under  the  iniquitous  administration 
ol  Catalano  and  Loderingo. 

s  That  pierced  spirit.   Ca  i'aphas . 
<  The  father  of  his  consort.    Annas. 


IT  A  LI  A  N  LITER  A  TUBE.  125 

When  the  poets  reach  the  ninth  and  last  circle  they  see  the  souls  of 
traitors  lying  in  a  frozen  lake  and  in  the  midst  Lucifer,  the  fallen  arch- 
angel, in  the  very  center  of  the  earth.  They  slide  down  his  icy  sides, 
and  begin  to  ascend  to  the  earth's  surface  through  a  cavern  "  and  thence 
come  forth  to  see  the  stars  again." 

The  second  part  of  the  Divine  Comedy  is  the  vision  of 
Purgatory.  When  the  solid  earth  retired  before  the  falling 
Lucifer,  making  the  hollow  cone  of  hell,  it  was  pushed  out  on 
the  other  side  of  the  globe,  forming  the  mountain  of  Purgatory. 
This  is  also  divided  into  nine  circles.  In  the  first  two  are  the 
souls  of  those  who  delayed  repentance  until  death.  In  the 
other  seven,  the  seven  deadly  sins  are  purged  away.  On 
the  summit  is  the  earthly  paradise. 

I.     The  Celestial  Pilot. 

From  the  Purgatorio. 

The  mountain  of  Purgatory  is  situated  upon  an  island.  "While  Virgil 
and  Dante  are  standing  looking  across  the  water,  they  behold  a  boat 
laden  with  spirits  for  Purgatory  under  the  guidance  of  an  angel. 

Meanwhile  we  linger'd  by  the  water's  brink, 
Like  men,  who,  musing  on  their  road,  in  thought 
Journey,  while  motionless  the  body  rests. 
When  lo !  as,  near  upon  the  hour  of  dawn, 
Through  the  thick  vapours  Mars  with  fiery  beam 
Glares  down  in  west,  over  the  ocean  floor ; 
So  seem'd,  what  once  again  I  hope  to  view, 
A  light,  so  swiftly  coming  through  the  sea, 
No  winged  course  might  equal  its  career. 
From  which  when  for  a  space  I  had  withdrawn 
Mine  eyes,  to  make  inquiry  of  my  guide, 
Again  I  look'd,  and  saw  it  grown  in  size 
And  brightness :  then  on  either  side  appear'd 
Something,  but  what  I  knew  not,  of  bright  hue, 
And  by  degrees  from  underneath  it  came 
Another.    My  preceptor  silent  yet 
Stood,  while  the  brightness,  that  we  first  discern'd, 
Open'd  the  form  of  wings :  then  when  he  knew 
The  pilot,  cried  aloud,  "  Down,  down ;  bend  low 
Thy  knees ;  behold  God's  angel :  fold  thy  hands : 
Now  shalt  thou  see  true  ministers  indeed. 
Lo !  how  all  human  means  he  sets  at  nought ; 
So  that  nor  oar  he  needs,  nor  other  sail 


126  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Except  his  wings,  between  such  distant  shores. 
Lo !  how  straight  up  to  heaven  he  holds  them  rear'd, 
Winnowing  the  air  with  those  eternal  plumes, 
That  not  like  mortal  hairs  fall  off  or  change." 

As  more  and  more  toward  us  came,  more  bright 
Appear'd  the  bird  of  God,  nor  could  the  eye 
Endure  his  splendour  near :  I  mine  bent  down. 
He  drove  ashore  in  a  small  bark  so  swift 
And  light,  that  in  its  course  no  wave  it  drank. 
The  heavenly  steersman  at  the  prow  was  seen, 
Visibly  written  Blessed  in  his  looks. 
Within,  a  hundred  spirits  and  more  there  sat. 

"  In  Exitu1  Israel  de  Egypto," 
All  with  one  voice  together  sang,  with  what 
In  the  remainder  of  that  hymn  is  writ. 
Then  soon  as  with  the  sign  of  holy  cross 
He  bless'd  them,  they  at  once  leap'd  out  on  land : 
He,  swiftly  as  he  came,  return'd. 

II.     The  Meeting  with  Sordello. 

From  the  Purgatorio. 

In  the  second  circle  of  the  mountain  of  Purgatory,  Virgil  and  Dante  en- 
counter the  spirit  of  Sordello.a  detained  among  those  who  delayed  re- 
pentance until  death. 

"  But  lo !  a  spirit  there 
Stands  solitary,  and  toward  us  looks : 
It  will  instruct  us  in  the  speediest  way." 
We  soon  approach' d  it. 

When  my  courteous  guide  began, 
"  Mantua,"  the  shadow,  in  itself  absorb'd, 
Rose  towards  us  from  the  place  in  which  it  stood, 
And  cried,  "  Mantuan!  I  am  thy  countryman, 
Sordello."    Each  the  other  then  embraced. 


After  their  courteous  greetings  joyfully 

Seven  times  exchanged,  Sordello  backward  drew 

Exclaiming,  "  Who  are  ye?  "— "  Before  this  mount 

By  spirits  worthy  of  ascent  to  God 

Was  sought,  my  bones  had  by  Octavius'  care 

Been  buried.    I  am  Virgil ;  for  no  sin 

Deprived  of  heaven,  except  for  lack  of  faith." 

i  In  Exitu  Israel  de  Egypto — When  Israel  came  out  of  Egypt.— P*.  cxiv. 
•  •Sordello.    A  Provencal  soldier  and  poet,  whose  life  is  wrapt  in  romantic 
mystery.    See  Browning's  poem  Sordello. 


ITALIAN  LITERATURE.  127 

So  answer'd  him  in  few  my  gentle  guide. 


"  Glory  of  Latium ! "  he  exclaim'd, 
"  In  whom  our  tongue  its  utmost  power  display'd ; 
Boast  of  my  honour'd  birth-place !  what  desert 
Of  mine,  what  favour,  rather,  undeserved, 
Shows  thee  to  me  ?    If  I  to  hear  that  voice 
Am  worthy,  say  if  from  below  thou  comest, 
And  from  what  cloister's  pale."—"  Through  every  orb 
Of  that  sad  region,"  he  replied,  "  thus  far 
Am  I  arrived,  by  heavenly  influence  led : 
And  with  such  aid  I  come.    Not  for  my  doing, 
But  for  not  doing,  have  I  lost  the  sight 
Of  that  high  Sun,  whom  thou  desirest,  and  who 
By  me  too  late  was  known.    There  is  a  place x 
There  underneath,  not  made  by  torments  sad, 
But  by  dun  shades  alone ;  where  mourning's  voice 
Sounds  not  of  anguish  sharp,  but  breathes  in  sighs. 
There  I  with  little  innocents  abide, 
"Who  by  death's  fangs  were  bitten,  ere  exempt 
From  human  taint.    There  I  with  those  abide, 
Who  the  three  holy  virtues  put  not  on, 
But  understood  the  rest,  and  without  blame 
Follow'd  them  all.    But  if  thou  know'st  and  canst, 
Direct  us  how  we  soonest  may  arrive, 
Where  Purgatory  its  true  beginning  takes." 

He  answer'd  thus :  "  We  have  no  certain  place 
Assign'd  us :  upwards  I  may  go,  or  round. 
Far  as  I  can,  I  join  thee  for  thy  guide. 
But  thou  beholdest  now  how  day  declines ; 
And  upwards  to  proceed  by  night,  our  power 
Excels :  therefore  it  may  be  well  to  choose 
A  place  of  pleasant  sojourn.    To  the  right 
Some  spirits  sit  apart  retired.    If  thou 
Consentest,  I  to  these  will  lead  thy  steps : 
And  thou  wilt  knoAV  them,  not  without  delight." 

III.     The  Angel  of  the  Gate. 

From  the  Purgatorio. 

The  poets  spend  the  night  in  this  valley  with  Bordello  and  other  spirits. 
In  the  morning  they  ascend  to  the  gates  of  the  real  Purgatory.  These 
are  kept  by  an  angel  deputed  by  St.  Peter. 

i  A  place  there  underneath.    Limbo.    See  first  selection  from  the  Divine 
Comedy. 


128  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Ashes,  or  earth  ta'en  dry  out  of  the  ground, 
Were  of  one  colour  with  the  robe  he  wore. 
From  underneath  that  vestment  forth  he  drew 
Two  keys,  of  metal  twain :  the  one  was  gold, 
Its  fellow  silver.    With  the  pallid  first, 
And  next  the  burnish'd,  he  so  ply'd  the  gate, 
As  to  content  me  well.    "  Whenever  one 
Faileth  of  these,  that  in  the  key-hole  straight 
It  turn  not,  to  this  alley  then  expect 
Access  in  vain."    Such  were  the  words  he  spake. 
"  One  is  more  precious l :  but  the  other  needs, 
Skill  and  sagacity,  large  share  of  each, 
Ere  its  good  task  to  disengage  the  knot 
Be  worthily  perform'd.    From  Peter  these 
I  hold,  of  him  instructed  that  I  err 
Rather  in  opening,  than  in  keeping  fast ; 
So  but  the  suppliant  at  my  feet  implore." 

Then  of  that  hallow'd  gate  he  thrust  the  door, 
Exclaiming,  "  Enter,  but  this  warning  hear  : 
He  forth  again  departs  who  looks  behind." 

As  in  the  hinges  of  that  sacred  ward 
The  swivels  turn'd  sonorous  metal  strong, 
Harsh  was  the  grating,  nor  so  surlily 
Roar'd  the  Tarpeian,  when  by  force  bereft 
Of  good  Metellus,  thenceforth  from  his  loss 
To  leanness  doom'd.    Attentively  I  turn'd, 
Listening  the  thunder  that  first  issued  forth ; 
And  "  We  praise  thee,  O  God,"  methought  I  heard, 
In  accents  blended  with  sweet  melody, 
The  strains  came  o'er  mine  ear,  e'en  as  the  sound 
Of  choral  voices,  that  in  solemn  chant 
With  organ  mingle,  and,  now  high  and  clear 
Come  swelling,  now  float  indistinct  away. 

IV.    Beatrice  Appears  to  Dante  and  Rebukes  Hint. 

From  the  Puryatorio. 

Inside  the  gates  of  Purgatory  rise  seven  successive  circles,  in  which  the 
seven  deadly  sins  are  purged;  in  the  first,  the  sin  of  pride;  in  the 
second,  that  of  envy ;  in  the  third,  anger ;  in  the  fourth,  lukewarmness; 
in  the  fifth,  avarice;  in  the  sixth,  gluttony;  in  the  seventh,  inconti- 
nence is  purged  by  fire.  Having  passed  through  all  these,  Dante  and 

i  One  is  more  precious.  The  golden  key  is  the  divine  authority  by  which 
the  priest  gives  absolution.  The  silver  stands  for  the  learning  and  wisdom 
necessary  for  the  priest. 


ITALIAN  LITERATURE,  129 

his  guide  ascend  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  the  earthly  Paradise. 
Here  Virgil  ceases  to  guide  the  poet,  but  leaves  him  to  choose  for  a 
•while  his  own  way.  To  him  here  descends  Beatrice  who,  before 
assuming  his  further  guidance,  rebukes  him  for  his  manner  of  life  on 
earth. 

At  the  last  audit,  so 

The  blest  shall  rise,  from  forth  his  cavern  each 
Uplifting  lightly  his  new-vested  flesh ; 
As,  on  the  sacred  litter,  at  the  voice 
Authoritative  of  that  elder,  sprang 
A  hundred  ministers  and  messengers 
Of  life  eternal.    "  Blessed  thou,  who  comest !  " 
And,  "  Oh !  "  they  cried,  "  from  full  hands  scatter  ye 
Unwithering  lilies  "  :  and,  so  saying,  cast 
Flowers  over  head  and  round  them  on  all  sides. 

I  have  beheld,  ere  now,  at  break  of  day, 
The  eastern  clime  all  roseate ;  and  the  sky 
Opposed,  one  deep  and  beautiful  serene ; 
And  the  sun's  face  so  shaded,  and  with  mists 
Attemper'd,  at  his  rising,  that  the  eye 
Long  while  endured  the  sight :  thus,  in  a  cloud 
Of  flowers,  that  from  those  hands  angelic  rose, 
And  down  within  and  outside  of  the  car 
Fell  showering,  in  white  veil  with  olive  wreathed, 
A  virgin  in  my  view  appear'd,  beneath 
Green  mantle,  robed  in  hue  of  living  flame : 
And  o'er  my  spirit,  that  so  long  a  time 
Had  from  her  presence  felt  no  shuddering  dread, 
Albeit  mine  eyes  discern'd  her  not,  there  moved 
A  hidden  virtue  from  her,  at  whose  touch 
The  power  of  ancient  love  was  strong  within  me. 

Upon  the  chariot's  same  edge  still  she  stood, 
Immovable;  and  thus  address'd  her  words: 
"  I  shape  mine  answer,  for  his  ear  intended, 
Who  there  stands  weeping  ;l  that  the  sorrow  now 
May  equal  the  transgression.    Not  alone 
Through  operation  of  the  mighty  orbs, 
That  mark  each  seed  to  some  predestined  aim, 
As  with  aspect  or  fortunate  or  ill 
The  constellations  meet ;  but  through  benign 
Largess  of  heavenly  graces,  which  rain  down 
From  such  a  height  as  mocks  our  vision,  this  man 

i  Who  there  stands  weeping.    Dante. 


130  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Was,  in  the  freshness  of  his  being,  such, 

So  gifted  virtually,  that  in  him 

All  better  habits  wonderously  had  thrived. 

The  more  of  kindly  strength  is  in  the  soil, 

So  much  doth  evil  seed  and  lack  of  culture 

Mar  it  the  more,  and  make  it  run  to  wildness. 

These  looks  sometime  upheld  him ;  for  I  showed 

My  youthful  eyes,  and  led  him  by  their  light 

In  upright  walking.    Soon  as  I  had  reach' d 

The  threshold  of  my  second  age,  and  changed 

My  mortal  for  immortal ;  then  he  left  me, 

And  gave  himself  to  others.    "When  from  flesh 

To  spirit  I  had  risen,  and  increase 

Of  beauty  and  of  virtue  circled  me, 

I  was  less  dear  to  him,  and  valued  less. 

His  steps  were  turn'd  into  deceitful  ways, 

Following  false  images  of  good,  that  make 

No  promise  perfect.    Nor  availed  me  aught 

To  sue  for  inspirations,  with  the  which, 

I,  both  in  dreams  of  night,  and  otherwise, 

Did  call  him  back ;  of  them,  so  little  reck'd  him. 

Such  depth. he  fell,  that  all  device  was  short 

Of  his  preserving,  save  that  he  should  view 

The  children  of  perdition.    To  this  end 

I  visited  the  purlieus  of  the  dead : 

And  one,  who  hath  conducted  him  thus  high, 

Received  my  supplications  urged  with  weeping. 

It  were  a  breaking  of  God's  high  decree, 

If  Lethe  should  be  past,  and  such  food l  tasted, 

Without  the  cost  of  some  repentant  tear." 

The  third  part  of  the  Divine  Comedy  is  the  vision  of  Para- 
dise. Dante's  Paradise  is  divided  into  ten  heavens,  or  spheres. 
Through  these  in  succession  the  poet  is  conducted  by  Beatrice, 
until  in  the  tenth  heaven,  or  the  Empyrean,  he  comes  into  the 
visible  presence  of  God. 

I.     The  Visible  Presence. 

From  the  Paradiso. 

O  eternal  beam ! 

(Whose  height  what  reach  of  mortal  thought  may  soar  ?) 
Yield  me  again  some  little  particle 

iSuck  food.    The  oblivion  of  sins. 


ITALIAN  LITERATURE.  131 

Of  what  thou  then  appearedst ;  give  my  tongue 
Power,  but  to  leave  one  sparkle  of  thy  glory, 
Unto  the  race  to  come,  that  shall  not  lose 
Thy  triumph  wholly,  if  thou  waken  aught 
Of  memory  in  me,  and  endure  to  hear 
The  record  sound  in  this  unequal  strain. 

O  grace,  unenvyiug  of  thy  boon  !  that  gavest 
Boldness  to  fix  so  earnestly  my  ken 
On  the  everlasting  splendour,  that  I  look'd, 
While  sight  was  unconsumed ;  and,  in  that  depth, 
Saw  in  one  volume  clasp'd  of  love,  whate'er 
The  universe  unfolds ;  all  properties 
Of  substance  and  of  accident,  beheld, 
Compounded,  yet  one  individual  light 
The  whole. 

In  that  abyss 

Of  radiance,  clear  and  lofty,  seem'd,  methought, 
Three  orbs  of  triple  hue,1  clipt  in  one  bound  : 
And,  from  another,  one  reflected  seem'd, 
As  rainbow  is  from  rainbow  :  and  the  third 
Seem'd  fire,  breathed  equally  from  both.    O  speech ! 
How  feeble  and  how  faint  art  thou,  to  give 
Conception  birth.    Yet  this  to  what  I  saw 
Is  less  than  little.    O  eternal  light ! 
Sole  in  thyself  that  dwell'st ;  and  of  thyself 
Sole  understood,  past,  present,  or  to  come ; 
Thou  smiledst,  on  that  circling,  which  in  thee 
Seem'd  as  reflected  splendour,  while  I  mused ; 
For  I  therein,  methought,  in  its  own  hue 
Beheld  our  image  painted  :  stedfastly 
I  therefore  pored  upon  the  view.    As  one, 
Who  versed  in  geometric  lore,  would  fain 
Measure  the  circle ;  and,  though  pondering  long 
And  deeply,  that  beginning,  which  he  needs, 
Finds  not :  e'en  such  was  I,  intent  to  scan 
The  novel  wonder,  and  trace  out  the  form, 
How  to  the  circle  fitted,  and  therein 
How  placed :  but  the  flight  was  not  for  my  wing : 
Had  not  a  flash  darted,athwart  my  mind, 
And,  in  the  spleen,  unfolded  what  is  sought. 

i  Three  orbs  of  triple  hue.    The  Trinity. 


132  SONG  AND  LEO  END. 

' 

Here  vigour  fail'd  the  towering  fantasy  : 
But  yet  the  will  roll'd  onward,  like  a  wheel 
In  even  motion,  by  the  love  impell'd, 
That  moves  the  sun  in  heaven  and  all  the  stars. 

Next  after  Dante,  the  first  name  of  importance  in  Italian 
literature  is  that  of  Francesca  Petrarca,  called  Petrarch  in 
English.  He  was  the  son  of  a  Florentine  exile,  was  born 
at  Aruzzo  in  1304,  and  died  at  Padua  in  1374.  He  was  a 
scholar  and  a  diplomat,  and  was  entrusted  with  many  public 
services.  Most  of  his  active  life  he  spent  at  Avignon,  at  the 
papal  court,  or  in  Vaucluse  near  by.  When  he  was  twenty- 
three,  he  met  Laura,  the  beautiful  woman  with  whom  he  was 
always  after  in  love,  and  who  was  the  inspiration  of  all  his 
lyric  poetry.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  citizen  of  Avignon, 
and  was  married,  probably  to  Ugo  de  Sade  of  Avignon.  She 
was  a  good  woman  whose  character  was  ever  above  reproach. 

Petrarch  was  a  very  industrious  writer.  He  produced  many 
letters  and  treatises'in  Latin,  besides  a  long  Latin  epic  Africa. 
But  his  great  and  deserved  fame  rests  upon  his  Italian  lyric 
poetry — the  Canzoniere.  The  Canzoniere  is  divided  into 
three  parts  :  the  poems  to  Laura  in  life  ;  to  Laura  in  death  ; 
and  the  Triumphs.  The  Triumphs  are  inferior  in  merit  to 
the  other  two  parts.  He  had  studied  closely  the  Provencal 
poets,  and  had  something  of  their  spirit. 

I.     To  Laura  in  Life. 

SONNET  III. 

HE  BLAMES  LOVE  FOR  WOUNDING    HIM    ON  A  HOLY  DAY  (GOOD  FRIDAY). 

'Twas  on  the  morn,  when  heaven  its  blessed  ray 
In  pity  to  its  suffering  master  veil'd, 
First  did  I,  Lady,  to  your  beauty  yield, 
Of  your  victorious  eyes  th'  unguarded  prey. 
Ah !  little  reck'd  I  that,  on  such  a  day, 
Needed  against  Love's  arrows  any  shield ; 
And  trod,  securely  trod,  the  fatal  field : 
Whence,  with  the  world's,  began  my  heart's  dismay. 


IT  A  LI  A  N  LITER  A  TURE.  133 

On  every  side  Love  found  his  victim  bare, 

And  through  mine  eyes  transfix'd  my  throbbing  heart ; 

Those  eyes,  which  now  with  constant  sorrows  flow : 

But  poor  the  triumph  of  his  boasted  art, 

Who  thus  could  pierce  a  naked  youth  nor  dare 

To  you  in  armour  mail'd  even  to  display  his  bow  ! 

— WRANGHAM. 

SONNET  XIV. 

HE  COMPARES  HIMSELF  TO  A   PILGRIM. 

The  palmer  bent,  with  locks  of  silver  gray, 
Quits  the  s\veet  spot  where  he  has  pass'd  his  years, 
Quits  his  poor  family,  whose  anxious  fears 
Paint  the  loved  father  fainting  on  his  way ; 
And  trembling,  on  his  aged  limbs  slow  borne, 
In  these  last  days  that  close  his  earthly  course, 
He,  in  his  soul's  strong  purpose,  finds  new  force, 
Though  weak  with  age,  though  by  long  travel  worn  : 
Thus  reaching  Rome,  led  on  by  pious  love. 
He  seeks  the  image  of  that  Saviour  Lord 
Whom  soon  he  hopes  to  meet  in  bliss  above : 
So,  oft  in  other  forms  I  seek  to  trace 
Some  charm,  that  to  my  heart  may  yet  afford 
A  faint  resemblance  of  thy  matchless  grace. 

— DACRE. 

SONNET  XCVIIJ. 

LEAVE-TAKING. 

There  was  a  touching  paleness  on  her  face, 
Which  chased  her  smiles,  but  such  sweet  union  made 
Of  pensive  majesty  and  heavenly  grace, 
As  if  a  passing  cloud  had  veil'd  her  with  its  shade ; 
Then  knew  I  how  the  blessed  ones  above 
Gaze  on  each  other  in  their  perfect  bliss, 
For  never  yet  was  look  of  mortal  love 
So  pure,  so  tender,  so  serene  as  this. 
The  softest  glance  fond  woman  ever  sent 
To  him  she  loved,  would  cold  and  rayless  be 
Compared  to  this,  which  she  divinely  bent 
Earthward,  with  angel  sympathy,  on  me, 
That  seem'd  with  speechless  tenderness  to  say, 
Who  takes  from  me  my  faithful  friend  away?  " 

— E.  {New  Monthly  Magazine.) 


134  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

SESTINA  VII. 

HK  DESPAIRS  OF  ESCAPING  FROM  HIS  TORMENTS. 

Count  the  ocean's  finny  droves  ; 
Count  the  twinkling  host  of  stars, 
Round  the  night's  pale  orb  that  moves ; 
Count  the  groves'  wing'd  choristers ; 
Count  each  verdant  blade  that  grows ; 
Counted  then  will  be  my  woes. 


Sad  my  nights ;  from  morn  till  eve, 

Tenanting  the  woods,  I  sigh : 

But,  ere  I  shall  cease  to  grieve, 

Ocean's  vast  bed  shall  be  dry, 

Suns  their  light  from  moons  shall  gain, 

And  spring  wither  on  each  plain. 

Pensive,  weeping,  night  and  day, 
From  this  shore  to  that  I  fly, 
Changeful  as  the  lunar  ray ; 
And,  when  evening  veils  the  sky, 
Then  my  tears  might  swell  the  floods, 
Then  my  sighs  might  bow  the  woods ! 

Towns  I  hate,  the  shades  I  love ; 
For  relief  to  yon  green  height, 
Where  the  rill  resounds,  I  rove 
At  the  grateful  calm  of  night ; 
There  I  wait  the  day's  decline, 
For  the  welcome  moon  to  shine. 

Song,  that  on  the  wood-hung  stream 
In  the  silent  hour  wert  born, 
Witness'd  but  by  Cynthia's  beam, 
Soon  as  breaks  to-morrow's  morn, 
Thou  shalt  seek  a  glorious  plain, 
There  with  Laura  to  remain ! 

— NOTT. 

II.     To  Laura  in  Death. 

SONNET  I. 

ON  THE  ANNOUNCEMENT  OF  THE  DEATH  OF  LAURA. 

Woe  for  the  'witching  look  of  that  fair  face ! 
The  port  where  ease  with  dignity  combined ! 
Woe  for  those  accents,  that  each  savage  mind 


IT  A  LI  AN  LITER  A  TURE.  136 

To  softness  tuned,  to  noblest  thoughts  the  base ! 

And  the  sweet  smile,  from  whence  the  dart  I  trace, 

Which  now  leaves  death  my  only  hope  behind ! 

Exalted  soul,  most  fit  on  thrones  to  've  shined, 

But  that  too  late  she  came  this  earth  to  grace ! 

For  you  I  still  must  burn,  and  breathe  in  you ; 

For  I  was  ever  yourt ;  of  you  bereft, 

Full  little  now  I  reck  all  other  care. 

With  hope  and  with  desire  you  thrill'd  me  through, 

When  last  my  only  joy  on  earth  I  left  :— 

But  caught  by  winds  each  word  was  lost  in  air. 

—ANON.,  Ox.,  1795. 

SONNET  XLII. 

THE  SPRING  ONLY  RENEWS  HIS  GRIEF. 

The  soft  west  wind,  returning,  brings  again 

I  ts  lovely  family  of  herbs  and  flowers ; 

Progne's  gay  notes  and  Philomela's  strain 

Vary  the  dance  of  springtide's  rosy  hours ; 

And  joyously  o'er  every  field  and  plain 

Glows  the  bright  smile  that  greets  them  from  above, 

And  the  warm  spirit  of  reviving  love 

Breathes  in  the  air  and  murmurs  from  the  main. 

But  tears  and  sorrowing  sighs,  which  gushingly 

Pour  from  the  secret  chambers  of  my  heart, 

Are  all  that  spring  returning  brings  to  me ; 

And  in  the  modest  smile,  or  glance  of  art, 

The  song  of  birds,  the  bloom  of  heath  and  tree, 

A  desert's  rugged  tract  and  savage  forms  I  see. 

— GREENE. 

SONNET  LII. 

HE  REVISITS  VAUCLUSE. 

I  feel  the  well-known  breeze,  and  the  sweet  hill 
Again  appears,  where  rose  that  beauteous  light, 
Which,  while  Heaven  willed  it,  met  my  eyes,  then  bright 
With  gladness,  but  now  dimmed  with  many  an  ill. 
Vain  hopes !  weak  thoughts !    Now,  turbid  is  the  rill ; 
The  flowers  have  drooped ;  and  she  hath  ta'en  her  flight 
From  the  cold  nest,  which  once,  in  proud  delight, 
Living  and  dying,  I  had  hoped  to  fill : 
I  hoped,  in  these  retreats,  and  in  the  blaze 


136  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

Of  her  fair  eyes,  which  have  consumed  my  heart, 
To  taste  the  sweet  reward  of  troubled  days. 
Thou,  whom  I  serve,  how  hard  and  proud  thou  art  I 
Erewhile,  thy  flame  consumed  me ;  now,  I  mourn 
Over  the  ashes  which  have  ceased  to  burn. 

— ROSCOE. 
• 
CANZONE  III. 

TTNDER  VARIOUS  ALLEGORIES  HE  PAINTS  THE  VIRTUE,  BEAUTY,  AND 
UNTIMELY   DEATH  OF  LAURA. 

While  at  my  window  late  I  stood  alone, 
So  new  and  many  things  there  cross' d  nay  sight, 
To  view  them  I  had  almost  weary  grown. 
A  dappled  hind  appear'd  upon  the  right, 
In  aspect  gentle,  yet  of  stately  stride, 
By  two  swift  greyhounds  chased,  a  black  and  white, 
Who  tore  in  the  poor  side 

Of  that  fair  creature  wounds  so  deep  and  wide, 
That  soon  they  forced  her  where  ravine  and  rock 
The  onward  passage  block  : 

Then  triumph'd  Death  her  matchless  beauties  o'er, 
And  left  me  lonely  there  her  sad  fate  to  deplore. 


In  a  fair  grove  a  bright  young  laurel  made 

—Surely  to  Paradise  the  plant  belongs !  — 

Of  sacred  boughs  a  pleasant  summer  shade, 

From  whose  green  depths  there  issued  so  sweet  songs 

Of  various  birds,  and  many  a  rare  delight 

Of  eye  and  ear,  what  marvel  from  the  world 

They  stole  my  senses  quite ! 

While  still  I  gazed,  the  heavens  grew  black  around, 

The  fatal  lightning  flash'd,  and  sudden  hurl'd, 

Uprooted  to  the  ground, 

That  blessed  birth.    Alas !  for  it  laid  low, 

And  its  dear  shade  whose  like  we  ne'er  again  shall  know. 

A  lovely  and  rare  bird  within  the  wood, 

Whose  crest  with  gold,  whose  wings  with  purple  gleam'd, 

Alone,  but  proudly  soaring,  next  I  view'd, 

Of  heavenly  and  immortal  birth  which  seem'd, 

Flitting  now  here,  now  there,  until  it  stood 

Where  buried  fount  and  broken  laurel  lay, 

And  sadly  seeing  there 


ITALIA  X  LITER  A  TUBE.  137 

The  fallen  trunk,  the  boughs  all  stripp'd  and  bare, 

The  channel  dried — for  all  things  to  decay 

So  tend — it  turn'd  away 

As  if  in  angry  scorn,  and  instant  fled, 

While  through  me  for  her  loss  new  love  and  pity  spread. 

At  length  along  the  flowery  sward  I  saw 

So  sweet  and  fair  a  lady  pensive  move 

That  her  mere  thought  inspires  a  tender  awe ; 

Meek  in  herself,  but  haughty  against  Love,    . 

Flow'd  from  her  waist  a  robe  so  fair  and  fine 

Seem'd  gold  and  snow  together  there  to  join  : 

But,  ah  !  each  charm  above 

Was  veil'd  from  sight  in  an  unfriendly  cloud : 

Stung  by  a  lurking  snake,  as  flowers  that  pine 

Her  head  she  gently  bow'd, 

And  joyful  pass'd  on  high,  perchance  secure : 

A.las  !  that  in  the  world  grief  only  should  endure. 

— MACGRBGOR. 

SONNET  LXXXV. 

HE  CONFESSES  AND  REGRETS    HIS    SINS,    AND    PRAYS    GOD    TO    SAVE    HIM 
FROM   ETERNAL   DEATH. 

Love  held  me  one  and  twenty  years  enchain'd, 
His  flame  was  joy — for  hope  was  in  my  grief! 
For  ten  more  years  I  wept  without  relief, 
When  Laura  with  my  heart,  to  heaven  attain'd. 
Now  weary  grown,  my  life  I  had  arraign'd 
That  in  its  error,  check'd  (to  my  belief) 
Blest  virtue's  seeds — now,  in  my  yellow  leaf, 
I  grieve  the  misspent  years,  existence  staiu'd. 
Alas !  it  might  have  sought  a  brighter  goal, 
In  flying  troublous  thoughts,  and  winning  peace  ; 
O  Father !  I  repentant  seek  thy  throne  : 
Thou,  in  this  temple  hast  enshrined  my  soul, 
Oh,  bless  me  yet,  and  grant  its  safe  release ! 
Unjustified — my  sin  I  humbly  own. 

— WOLL  ASTON  . 

SONNET  XC. 

THE  PLAINTIVE  SONG  OF  A   BIRD  RECALLS  HIS  KEENER  SORROW. 

Poor,  solitary  bird,  that  pour'st  thy  lay, 
Or  haply  mournest  the  sweet  season  gone, 


138  SONG  AND  LEGEND. 

As  chilly  night  and  winter  hurry  on, 

And  daylight  fades,  and  summer  flies  away ! 

If,  as  the  cares  that  swell  thy  little  throat, 

Thou  knew'st  alike  the  woes  that  wound  my  rest, 

O,  thou  wouldst  house  thee  in  this  kindred  breast, 

And  mix  with  mine  thy  melancholy  note ! 

Yet  little  know  I  ours  are  kindred  ills  : 

She  still  may  live  the  object  of  thy  song : 

Not  so  for  me  stern  Death  or  Heaven  wills  ! 

But  the  sad  season,  and  less  grateful  hour, 

And  of  past  joy  and  sorrow  thoughts  that  throng, 

Prompt  my  full  heart  this  idle  lay  to  pour. 

— DACRE. 

FROM  THE  DECAMERON. 

The  third  great  name  in  Italian  mediaeval  literature  is  that 
of  Giovanni  Boccaccio.  He  was  born  in  Paris  in  1313,  and 
died  at  Certaldo  in  1345.  Like  Dante  and  Petrarch  he  was  a 
scholar  and  an  industrious  writer.  He  wrote  some  important 
historical  treatises,  and  many  poems,  some  of  which  attained 
some  fame.  But  it  is  as  a  writer  of  prose  that  he  deserves  the 
name  he  has.  In  Italy,  as  in  all  other  lands,  there  was  in  the 
Middle  Ages  a  large  body  of  tales  and  fables  in  circulation.  In 
Italy,  during  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  centuries,  these 
tales  came  into  literature  as  Xovellas  or  novels.  The  Decam- 
erone  of  Boccaccio  is  a  collection  of  a  hundred  such  novels  or 
tales.  They  are  derived  from  many  sources,  probably  not 
more  than  three  or  four  of  them  being  invented  by  Boccaccio. 
The  tale  we  select  is  interesting  as  furnishing  the  basis  for  one 
of  Keats'  beautiful  romantic  ballads. 

THE  POT  OF  BASIL. 

There  lived,  then,  at  Messina,  three  young  merchants,  who 
were  brothers,  and  left  very  rich  by  their  father  ;  they  had  an 
only  sister,  a  lady  of  worth  and  beauty,  who  was  unmarried. 
Now  they  kept  a  youth,  by  way  of  factor,  to  manage  their 
affairs,  called  Lorenzo,  one  of  a  very  agreeable  person,  who, 


ITALIAN  LITERATURE.  139 

being  often  in  Isabella's  company,  and  finding  himself  no 
way  disagreeable  to  her,  confined  all  his  wishes  to  her  only, 
which  in  some  little  time  had  their  full  effect.  This  affair 
was  carried  on  between  them  for  a  considerable  time,  without 
the  least  suspicion  ;  till  one  night  it  happened,  as  she  was 
going  to  his  chamber,  that  the  eldest  brother  saw  her,  without 
her  knowing  it.  This  afflicted  him  greatly  ;  yet,  being  a 
prudent  man,  he  made  no  discovery,  but  lay  considering  with 
himself  till  morning,  what  course  was  best  for  them  to  take. 
He  then  related  to  his  brothers  what  he  had  seen,  with  regard 
to  their  sister  and  Lorenzo,  and,  after  a  long  debate,  it  was 
resolved  to  seem  to  take  no  notice  of  it  for  the  present,  but  to 
make  away  with  him  privately,  the  first  opportunity,  that  they 
might  remove  all  cause  of  reproach  both  to  their  sister  and 
themselves.  Continuing  in  this  resolution,  they  behaved  with 
the  same  freedom  and  civility  to  Lorenzo  as  ever,  till  at 
length,  under  a  pretense  of  going  out  of  the  city,  upon  a  party 
of  pleasure,  they  carried  him  along  with  them,  and  arriving 
at  a  lonesome  place,  fit  for  their  purpose,  they  slew  him, 
unprepared  to  make  any  defence,  and  buried  him  there ;  then, 
returning  to  Messina,  they  gave  it  out  that  they  had  sent  him 
on  a  journey  of  business,  which  was  easily  believed,  because 
they  frequently  did  so.  In  some  time,  she,  thinking  that  he 
made  a  long  stay,  began  to  inquire  earnestly  of  her  brothers 
concerning  him,  and  this  she  did  so  often,  that  at  last  one  of 
them  said  to  her,  "What  have  you  to  do  with  Lorenzo,  that 
you  are  continually  teasing  us  about  him?  If  you  inquire 
any  more,  you  shall  receive  such  an  answer  as  you  will  by  no 
means  approve  of."  This  grieved  her  exceedingly  ;  and,  fear- 
ing she  knew  not  why,  she  remained  without  asking  any  more 
questions  ;  yet  all  the  night  would  she  lament  and  complain 
of  his  long  stay  ;  and  thus  she  spent  her  life  in  a  tedious  and 
anxious  waiting  for  his  return ;  till  one  night  it  happened, 
that  having  wept  herself  asleep,  he  appeared  to  her  in  a 
dream,  all  pale  and  ghastly,  with  his  clothes  rent  in  pieces ; 
and  she  thought  he  spoke  to  her  thus-:  "My  dear  Isabel, 
thou  grievest  incessantly  for  my  absence,  and  art  continually 
calling  upon  me  :  but  know  that  I  can  return  no  more  to  thee, 
for  the  last  day  that  thou  sawest  me,  thy  brothers  put  me  to 


V 

140  SOXG  AND  LEGEXD. 

death."  And,  describing  the  place  where  they  had  buried 
him,  he  bid  her  call  no  more  upon  him,  nor  ever  expect  to  see 
him  again,  and  disappeared.  She,  waking,  and  giving  credit 
to  the  vision,  lamented  exceedingly ;  and,  not  daring  to  say 
anything  to  her  brethren,  resolved  to  go  to  the  place  mentioned 
in  the  dream,  to  be  convinced  of  the  reality  of  it.  Accord- 
ingly, having  leave  to  go  a  little  way  into  the  country,  along 
with  a  companion  of  hers,  who  was  acquainted  with  all  her 
affairs,  she  went  thither,  and  clearing  the  ground  of  the  dry 
leaves  with  which  it  was  covered,  she  observed  where  the 
earth  seemed  to  be  lightest,  and  dug  there.  She  had  not 
searched  far  before  she  came  to  her  lover's  body,  which  she 
found  in  no  degree  wasted  ;  this  confirmed  her  of  the  truth  of 
her  vision,  and  she  was  in  the  utmost  concern  on  that  account ; 
but,  as  that  was  not  a  fit  place  for  lamentation,  she  would 
willingly  have  taken  the  corpse  away  with  her,  to  have  given 
it  a  more  decent  interment ;  but,  finding  herself  unable  to  do 
that,  she  cut  off  his  head,  which  she  put  into  a  handkerchief, 
and,  covering  the  trunk  again  with  the  mould,  she  gave  it  to 
her  maid  to  carry,  and  returned  home  without  being  per- 
ceived. She  then  shut  herself  up  in  her  chamber,  and 
lamented  over  it  till  it  was  bathed  in  her  tears,  which  being 
done,  she  put  it  into  a  flower  pot,  having  folded  it  in  a  fine 
napkin,  and  covering  it  with  earth,  she  planted  sweet  herbs 
therein,  which  she  watered  with  nothing  but  rose  or  orange 
water,  or  else  with  her  tears ;  accustoming  herself  to  sit  always 
before  it,  and  devoting  her  whole  heart  unto  it,  as  containing 
her  dear  Lorenzo.  The  sweet  herbs,  what  with  her  continual 
bathing,  and  the  moisture  arising  from  the  putrified  head, 
flourished  exceedingly,  and  sent  forth  a  most  agreeable  odour. 
Continuing  this  manner  of  life,  she  was  observed  by  some  of 
the  neighbours,  and  they  related  her  conduct  to  her  brothers, 
who  had  before  remarked  with  surprise  the  decay  of  her 
beauty.  Accordingly,  they  reprimanded  her  for  it,  and,  find- 
ing that  ineffectual,  stole  the  pot  from  her.  She,  perceiving 
that  it  was  taken  away,  begged  earnestly  of  them  to  restore 
it,  which  they  refusing,  she  fell  sick.  The  young  men 
wondered  much  why  she  should  have  so  great  a  fancy  for  it, 
and  were  resolved  to  see  what  it  contained  :  turning  out  the 


ITALIAN  LITERATURE.  141 

earth,  therefore,  they  saw  the  napkin,  and  in  it  the  head,  not 
so  much  consumed,  but  that,  by  the  curled  locks,  they  knew 
it  to  be  Lorenzo's,  which  threw  them  into  the  utmost  aston- 
ishment, and  fearing  lest  it  should  be  known,  they  buried  it 
privately,  and  withdrew  themselves  from  thence  to  Naples. 
The  young  lady  never  ceased  weeping,  and  calling  for  her  pot 
of  flowers,  till  she  died  ;  and  thus  terminated  her  unfortunate 
love.  But,  in  some  time  afterwards,  the  thing  became  public, 
which  gave  rise  to  this  song  : 

Most  cruel  and  unkind  was  he, 
That  of  my  flowers  deprived  me,  Ac. 


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